Pathetic
by A-Kubrick-Spent
Summary: Harry Potter has failed- Hogwarts and Britain, are lost, and the Dark Lord lives still.Done, finally. Forgive the absence, but life continues to hinder me in all things.
1. a man who had fallen among thieves

He looked up through the tall buildings, the skyscrapers that had been here even before his parents were born, and he frowned. These Americans, he thought, trying to make a new sky?

Indeed, past all the blinding lights, he couldn't even look up far enough to see past some of these buildings, and, even if he could, he would be blinded by the lights that made all the buildings here look like a boorish Christmas tree. Americans, he thought again with a shake of his head.

It wasn't that he disliked New York- far from it, many of the wizards and witches here were very perceptive of his plight, and their own- it was that, well, simply, it scared him, somehow. He'd been in London, of course, but never to the center, and, even if he had, New York City was simply built like this from almost square one! It was… bigger, he guessed. He sighed, and then looked sidelong at his companion. She smiled lightly at him, skin looking unnatural him; he was very used to her being, well… darker. Parvati gave him a wink and laughed lightly.

He smiled back, but it was only half as bright as hers had been. He unconsciously rubbed at where his scar would have been, if not for the illusions that made them both seem like different people. He knew that polyjuice was better, but, hell, neither had the ingredients or skill to craft it. He missed Hermione…

Well, really, he missed them all, and the ache in his head and his heart didn't let up, even as he led his lover along their winding way.

Harry Potter was celebrating his birthday today. He was pretty sure that he was twenty-seven, but neither of them were really sure. They'd lost track, as it were.

Harry sighed, and hitched Oathbreaker farther up his arm; most people only think the strange man had scratched his arms, if the New Yorkers had even noticed at all.

Smoke. That's what he remembered: Smoke.

There were other things, yes; the screams, the curses, the burning fire that tried to lick at his skin. It had already hungrily devoured the building he was in, and if he didn't know better, he would have sworn it was fiendfyre. Shaking his head, he spared a look around, and his initial observation held true: everything was on bloody fire. Lovely. He grabbed his wand, which had fallen next to him, and then quickly cleared a way for him to escape. The wooden beams only held for a moment- he dove through the hole just before it collapsed, and ended up patting out the flames on his cloak.

Looking around, he ducked a cursed aimed at his head, and then cast a quick hex at his attacker, who obligingly crumpled to the ground. With a scream, another came at him, blindfiring curses that managed to cut down two death eaters who weren't looking out. Harry cried, "Bombarda Maxima," and the Death Eater crumpled under the weight of gravity. He smiled grimly. Usually, that wasn't an anti-personnel spell.

He dove behind a fallen archway, and blasted at another death eater. Luna joined him, occasionally killing any enemies too close. She sighed. "Moody's dead, and so are Crevich, Cho Chang, and Durst. We can't stay here, Harry! We've lost!"

Harry looked at Lovegood for a moment. Of all the people he knew who were still alive from the Battle of Hogwarts, she had seemed to change the least. She still wore all her strange garments, although she had forgone the radish earrings. Her eyes still held that luminous quality, although they seemed more focused now. He realized that they were fighting in what passed for her hometown, and he looked around as Ottery St. Catchpole burned around them. The Burrow wasn't far from here, either, he realized.

Not that there were any Weasleys to inhabit it; Arthur had died a few minutes before hand; Ron, Fred and Bill had been killed at Hogwarts, and George and Molly had died at the battle of London. Percy was killed when the Ministry was overrun, and no one knew where Charlie was.

"Yeah," he agreed with the blonde, and quickly cast the spell that sent the grinning Jokers' Head high into the air, signaling everyone to get to the Portkey nearby- Apparation had been blocked a while ago. He grabbed Luna by the hand, and they took off running.

A squad of death eaters came at them from a side street, and Luna screamed "Confringo!" The spreading fireball caught three of them, and Harry grinned as they ran around like beheaded chickens. On fire. Luna gave him a smile.

The portkey was about a quarter mile from where they had started- they linked up with Kingsley Shacklebolt and former Auror Thomas Dendaal. The object, a large red telephone booth, sat nonchalantly at a street corner.

They had planned it all so well, and now upwards of fifty or more of his allies, his friends, lay dead and dying, and they were going to leave them here to rot! A few muggles ran down the opposite street, screaming and crying. They ran into another squad of the death eaters, and they screamed no more.

Harry was already ushering people through the portal- he fired off a quick Avada Kedavra that killed some sod outright. He was pushing Dendaal through when he shuddered and fell forward, still giving off a green glow.

_Come on… come on_, he thought. _Faster, we have no time!_

He looked around, and realized that there were only about a dozen or so of his fighters left. He cried out, and they came closer to the exit. Then, one by one, they came for the portkey. Dean Thomas cried out in pain as a Crucio hit him, but Harry and Luna picked him up and threw him bodily through the door. Behind them, there came a thunderous crash, loud enough to drown out every wizard there. Luna's already wide eyes grew still, as she watched her home, spiraled tower and everything she knew, come crashing down in a crescendo of fire. Her Father was in there, he knew. "Luna!"

He dived to knock her out of the way of an intended curse, but he couldn't- no, there was no time!

He saw the Patil twins, or what was left of them- Parvati cradled her sister to her, stroking her twins hair as tears rolled down her face. Padma was dead. He roughly grabbed her by the shoulders, despite her protests, heaving her bodily into the booth. She gave him a final look before disappearing.

It was now down to four- him, Luna, a man named Dolcrus, and Padma's still body. Harry and Dolcrus gently placed it in a portal, and shared a grim nod before Dolcrus and the corpse disappeared.

"Come on, Luna!" She turned to him, smiling sadly, and it was horrible. He knew what she was going to do before she even raised her wand.

"Stuepefy!" The blast caught him full in the chest, blasting him back through the portkey. Before he went away, he saw her turn, almost as if the world had come to a crawl. She deftly side-stepped a curse, and killed it's caster. She was screaming…

And then he was through, crying into the arms of someone- anyone- because he knew that he had just seen another of his old friends die.

Harry blinked. He hurriedly wiped his ears, although he was sure that there weren't any tears there. Parvati gave him a look, and then placed a hand over his.

"Catchpole?"

He nodded, not saying a word.

Her smile saddened, and she said, "You saved me."

"I didn't save that many others, though," said Harry, still stubbornly holding on to his guilt.

"And neither did anyone else," she chided gently. "Maybe just this one was enough?"

Harry grinned. "Well, she most certainly is." Then, he pulled her close, and captured her lips in a kiss, letting the city continue to writhe and form around them.

The mass of humanity in the club swayed and crashed like the waves of the great ocean next to them, the muggles alternately lolloping about or throwing themselves against each other, the lights blinking at least three or so times a second, blinding everyone who was stupid enough to look. The music pounded with the intensity of dragon fire, and he grabbed Parvati with a mischievous grin. Taking his wand out, he pointed it at the speaker nearest them, muttering a small spell that went through to where the DJ spun his records. Abruptly, the music changed from screaming death metal to the more mellow sounds of The Police- Harry had always preferred them. Message in a Bottle rang out over the sullen cries of the crowd, while the DJ desperately tried to change the song.

Harry and Parvati, meanwhile, danced to Stings' voice, alternating between holding the other close, and spinning in place, smiles on their faces. By now, a few of the muggles had decided to make the best of it, grabbing partners and joining in on the dance. Harry was glad they went here instead of a usual dance club. He could never understand the Americans fixation on rap. To his ear, it just sounded like really bad poetry set to some techno music.

Parvati moved against him, letting her hand trail across his chest, enjoying the effect it still had on him. They kissed again. When it broke away, Harry quickly looked to the side- something was wrong.

Too late.

"DOWN!" He pulled Parvati down under him, hitting the floor as the wall to the club blew up in a horrendous spectacle. Body parts flew past them, blood and screams from the muggles. Green light danced above, striking many before they could reach an exit. _God_, thought Harry, _It's Godric's all over again!_

Death Eaters- he was sure of it, although he wasn't sure how they got past the nation-wide anti-apparation cover the Americans had set up after Voldemort had taken over England. Muggle transports? He sprung into a crouch, and sent a quick stunner at them, keeping low. It wouldn't do to jump head first into something he didn't know about. Parvati had taken cover behind some of the debris, casting a quick fireball at the approaching enemies. He counted at least seven, maybe nine, possibly more if they were in reserves.

Someone was firing a gun, and Harry remembered that they were quite well into gang territory. Somehow, the choice between a bullet in the head and an Avada Kedavra anywhere wasn't a choice he wanted to make. He hopped over to Parvati, grabbing her arm. "Time to go!"

Together, they took off, bullets whistling by as the muggles fought against the wizards. Parvati blasted back behind her shoulder, and a Death Eater screamed as he caught it full blast, only to be hit by a few bullets from the obliging gangers. Despite the muggles best efforts, the wizards were advancing, blasting apart defenders and debris indiscriminately.

The two escapees made their way up, through falling bodies and pieces of the cracking ceiling. The building was falling apart, and Harry did not want to be caught under several tons of concrete. He levitated a large concrete block, large enough to cover both him and Parvati, and sent it speeding in the opposite direction. The death eaters blasted at the obvious target as the lovers made their escape.

The bullets had died down, most of the gangers deciding that this new threat wasn't what they wanted to be involved in. After the concrete was blasted to so much rubble, the dark wizards took off to find the two.

Suppressing a laugh, Harry led Parvati down the wending back alleys, leading a merry dance that the two were well familiar with. It was, after all, the way they had escaped from the Dark Lord's Minions on more than one occasion. And, really, Harry couldn't help but laugh. Eventually, he knew, one of them would grow slow, make a misstep, or let their guard slip. And then, poof, no more Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Fucked-Up.

They heard the tramp of booted feet, and the mournful wails of police sirens combined with the screams of fire trucks and the ambulances that converged on the scene. His grin returned. The muggles would shield them from suspicion, if anything. Part of another Gang war, he thought smugly.

They didn't know the way around here very well, and soon found themselves lost in the maze of back alleys and uncleaned streets. This was deep into Hell's Kitchen proper, where they still were run by gangs and the corrupt. A perfect place for the fugitives to slip into.

The Death Eaters were closing in on them; they could hear their shouts and their curses, some magical, some simply induced by rage. Harry and Parvati were the very last of the English Resistance that wasn't counted for, Harry was sure.

With a crack of thunder, lightning split the sky, and the clouds rent asunder to deliver their somber burden. The rain splashed down with a ferocity best saved for giants and dragons, quickly forming puddles in the potholes that no one ever bothered to fix. Harry wiped rain water off of his glasses, and admired the way Parvatis' hair looked damp.

Then, the balcony above them exploded, and they were off again, running, always running. Green curses filled the air, leaving a sizzling afterimage as they passed near them. He pulled them into a side alley, but his hopes came crashing down when he saw the wall ahead of them. Dauntless, his lover aimed a powerful spell at it to destroy the brick wall, but it bounced off and upwards, into one of the buildings on their side.

"Damnit, we're trapped!" He looked around, but realized that the American dark wizards had done their homework, and quickly, at that. This was a blind alley, blocked off on each side by powerful warding spells. The Death Eaters had them cornered. "Damnit," he repeated. He pulled Parvati closer, catching her in a deep kiss that left them both breathless. "Goodbye, Parvati. I love you."

"Love you too, Harry," she said. "See you on the other side?"

He grinned, looking at where the first of the Death Eaters were poking their heads around the corners. "Definitely," he said, sending a curse that sent them scurrying.

They stood, side by side, waiting for them. Harry counted maybe six left, too many for them to take on by themselves. He cried out, "Oathbreaker!" And the chain that had attached itself to him came out, shining in the half-light as he spun it, round and round above his head. This gave their assailants pause, but they came at them again, still no one saying a word. The pair raised their wands, each prepared to sell their lives dearly.

The Death Eaters were spread out in a line that covered the entirety of the alleyway, wands out and pointing at the duo, the last of Free Britain. As one, they began the curse. "AVADA-"

"Confringo!" The conflagration spread over them in an instant, setting all six dark wizards up like torches. They screamed and ran about, falling to the ground or out into the street, hoping futilely that the rain could put out the magical fires. Within a minute, the last had stopped twitching. Harry and Parvati looked to where the inferno had sprung, a rusted catwalk above them, seeing, briefly, two tired, luminous eyes staring back at them. Then, she turned and ran back along the walkway, blonde hair flying behind her in the rain and the dark.

Harry reached out, hand clasping at where she had been, almost as if he could grasp her again. "Luna," he said softly, and her name fell from his lips like a prayer.

The room was sparse, barely a bed and a nightstand, but neither of them cared. They lolled together, naked and relieved, Parvati tracing the chain of tattoos that Oathbreaker took when it was not in physical form. They were both different, now, after these long years of fighting, running, hiding.

Harry's arms were more defined and muscled, from his long years of using Oathbreaker and the weapons thereof. There was a long scar on his left cheek, from where a werewolf had come too close with its teeth, but had reached with its claws. His right hand was a nasty red, from when the skin had been burned off in a fire- it always gave off a faint heat. His face was leaner, not prone to laughter like it used to, and seemed to prefer to pull itself into a frown.

Parvati, on the other hand, seemed to be much less changed on the outside- She had a few scars, obviously, but who didn't? She also had a slight limp, from when a healing didn't go properly for her broken shin, but it didn't slow her too much. Harry couldn't recall all the times when she was bleeding internally because she was on the wrong end of a crushing curse. Every single rib had to have been broken at least twice on her, and some up to seven. Gone was the girl who giggled with Lavender Brown- of course, gone was Lavender Brown, along with everyone else- now, Harry only saw grim determination in her eyes, and a cold fire. He had seen her kill at least two dozen men unflinchingly, and he knew that that was why she was here with him right now. That, and her knack for dodging bad things aimed at her.

He was looking out the window from where he lay, seeing the city through rain speckled glass. "I know she was there, Par."

Parvati sighed, and came off of tracing his tattoo. "I know, Love, I know. But we don't know that for sure."

"But what if it was-?"

"And what if it wasn't? I know you want it to be her, and, Hell, so do I. But don't get your hopes up- I'm sure half the girls in this city are blonde in some way. We do have some allies here, you know."

Harry sighed, shaking his head. 'Allies'. Not 'Friends', no, none of those anymore. Just people that owe them a favor, or were willing to shelter them a night, or had goals similar to their own. Just two magi against the world, was all. "I know, Love, I know. But I'm not going to give up hope."

Parvati giggled lightly. "I never said you would, Harry."

He paused for a moment. "You know that I love you, right?"

"Of course I do! And I love you too!"

"Luna isn't a part of my life anymore, Par. I loved her once, but I love you now. Only you."

She laughed again at him, pushing him back on the bed. "You think I hadn't guessed that already? I know, past is past, leave it at that. Now c'mon, you. Escaping certain death has made me horny."

The rain beat down on the window outside, falling on the roof and the manifold charms that protected and hid the lovers and their moans of ecstasy, the lights falling dark as the moon rose and tried to shine through the clouds. And outside, under a lip that protected her from some of the rain, a pair of bright, luminous eyes gazed sadly over at them, and then turned away, ever vigilant, ever watchful.


	2. a total stranger one black day

She was beautiful- he traced a finger idly over her as she slept, the rise of her breasts, the curve of her hips, and the indent around her navel. She was beautiful, she was wonderful, he loved her, and she was perfect. And, God, he hated her.

The glass shattered, although neither took notice. Neither had touched it, and they didn't care- this is what happened when magicians argued. "Damnit, you used me!" He pushed his glasses up towards the bridge of his nose out of habit, still glaring daggers at her.

"I did no such thing," she retorted, matching his glare. "You were depressed, _you_ came to me. The only crime I'm guilty of is letting this run its course!" Blonde hair twirled around her head, and she stamped her foot down in a way not dissimilar to Hermione.

God, he wished she were alive now. She always knew what to do. "Luna, god… I _loved _her! I loved her, and the day after she's dead, I'm fucking her best friend!"

She smiled coldly. "Well, I guess you didn't love her as much as you thought." With that, she spun on her heel and left the room, ruffled her flying behind her.

She moaned, feeling him inside her. She twisted her spine, and brought her lips to his, feasting hungrily. She whimpered in pleasure, reaching up to pull his hair…

"Fuck!" Harry kicked the ground he strode on, falling on his knees. "Ginny!" Abruptly, he got up, still bleeding from the explosion that they had barely escaped. "Out of my way!" He bulled past two of his friends, sending them sprawling. Only a small, diminutive form stood before him.

"I can't let you do this, Harry." Her voice was quiet, calm, controlled.

"Go!" He went at her full speed, and she simply stood there. He couldn't do this. He must have had at least a head on her, maybe half and again, and he ground to a halt before her. "Move," he ground out.

"I can't-"

"She's dying!" His shout rang out, loud and strong and oh-so-small to his ears.

"She's dead!"

He fell forward, knees grinding into the mud, and screamed again. Luna Lovegood wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair.

He didn't know where he was, and he didn't care. Nor did she. All that mattered was this moment- grasping, moaning, fucking, groaning.

"Oooooh, oh yes, Oh, FUCK, Harry!" She clawed at his back in ecstasy, flicking back strands of blonde hair that threatened to obscure her vision.

"Ah, fuck… Oh, Ginny," he replied with clouded eyes.

Luna just smiled sadly, knowing that it was the best she was going to get.

His eyes pried themselves open, revealing his dark-skinned mistress. She snuffled in her sleep, a slight whimper from behind parted lips. He could understand a nightmare. They were probably better than reality. He roused her, plastering a small smile on his face.

Her eyes fluttered open, immediately finding his own bloodshot orbs. "Nightmares?"

His smile widened a little. "I could ask the same of you."

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Transylvania," she particularly spat. Harry nodded- that's where they lost Neville. "Yourself?" She inquired.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Ummm, what I mean, is… ummm-"

"Luna," she stated matter-of-factly. Her nose wrinkled in distaste again, but she hid it behind a sweet smile. "We'll figure this out, Harry. We always do."

He chuckled. "Yep, that's us, Potter and Patil, detective team extraordinaire. With a little practice, we'll be the new Sherlock Holmes and Watson."

Parvati laughed at him. "And who's the new Sherlock Holmes, dare I ask?"

"Why, you of course, my dear. I am, after all, more the strong, stoic type." He struck a dramatic pose from the bed, and she smacked him in the face with a pillow.

"Oh, get over yourself, you old twat!"

They drifted downwards towards the main hall, if it could be called that, of the apartment. There were a dozen or so wizards and witches down there, who either ignored them or gave them a curt nod. Harry and Parvati, in turn, ignored them to the bet of their ability, continuing towards their destination- The Command.

Not to say that it was any less run down then the rest of this place- Harry saw some type of insect scurry along between the cracks, and the wallpaper was stained and peeling in most places. They entered the room with a nod towards their current keeper, a man named Antoni Imeralis. He was what passed for a full-fledged wizard in the USA.

American magic is a sight different from European magic- it was much newer, and didn't have the thousands of years of formal magic-study that most of the rest of the world had to fall back on. Instead, magic took its cue from two different sources- the Native Shamans, who practiced a form of Ritual Magic, coupled with an inordinate amount of Animagi; and, of course, the families that emigrated to America, and the vast knowledge they usually took with them, from ancient tomes to the spells that they were taught as children. As such, and coupled with the Yanks natural independent spirit, there were very few formal schools of magic in the States or Canada, with teenage magicians instead forming into covens reminiscent of the old ways of the Druids. Also, approximately half of all wizards in the Americas were Animagi of one form or another, most likely due to the influence of the Native Shamans.

Antoni wasn't an Animagus, a fact which seemed to bring him no end of discomfort. Which, it seemed, he spread around to anything within earshot. "Well, look, if it isn't The-Boy-Who-Couldn't-Do-Anything," he remarked snidely.

Harry simply strode past him and sat down, businesslike, knowing that a confrontation was the last thing he needed now. "Very Funny. I need to know if there are any witches going around named Luna Lovegood. Normally has blonde hair, skinny, medium build, big eyes?"

Antoni raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell, Limey, what is your relation to this here witch?"

Harry smiled. "Just an old friend. If she's alive, well, I'd like to know sooner rather than later."

"We both would," added Parvati, and Harry could have kissed her right then.

"Lovely, it's just fucking lovely that you two may have found an old war buddy. Facts remain; I still need to pay my people, along with harboring you two wing-nuts, which is a warrant in and of itself." Wordlessly, Harry pushed a few galleons his way, which the Italian pocketed quickly. Americans used a different system, but, hey, gold was gold. At least the muggles would buy it. No doubt, Imeralis would use a spell to multiply it like a Leprechaun, but, hey, times were as times are. If a few non-magical schmucks took the hit, well, so much the worse. Both of them were past caring, and how the Americans conducted business was their problems. "Wonderful!" He clapped his hands together, all cheerful now that he had been paid- quite a bit more then he should have been, Harry mused. Solid gold coins were not something many could afford to drop around, and his stock was down to the dregs- mostly because he could only get a fraction of his wealth out of Gringotts before Voldemort had taken the position of Minister of Magic AND as Muggle Prime Minister.

"And now…?" Bless Parvati for her forwardness.

"And now, my dear, we talk business." Antoni's face darkened. "So that means that you Limey buggers can just shove off!" Taking the hint, if one could call it that, the two Brits left the room, careful not to overstay their welcome.

A ways down the hall, Parvati whispered to Harry, "I don't think that we can stay here for much longer, Lover. They're getting more short with us by the day."

"I know, I know. But we don't have anywhere else to go right now, and, as long as they don't start trying to kill us, we should be fine. As it is, we can't _afford_ to go anywhere else."

"And we couldn't afford to leave Romania, but we did that!"

"Yes, but that was only after… only…"

"After Seamus Finnegan died?" She looked at him, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I know you, Harry. You get complacent, and people have died for it." Abruptly, she looked down. "I'm the only one left. Will you wait to move until I've been killed, too?" When she looked back up, there were tears in her eyes.

Gently, Harry lifted up her chin, kissing away the tears, and then planting a kiss, softly, on her lips. Salty, he thought wearily. "Parvati, don't say that. You are my one and only- I love you, and I live for you. I will never, _never_, let anything happen to you. I promise you that, Parvati Patil." He held her close, and sobs shook her body.

"Don't say those things, Harry, don't say what you can't promise me!" She leaned back, eyes blinking to hold back tears and failing. "I love you Harry, but… My god…" She shook again, and Harry stroked her hair, making comforting noises that meant nothing. "Oh, God… I'm _scared_, Harry, I'm fucking terrified now."

"I know, Hon, I-"

"NO!" She pulled away from him, looking as if she wanted to slap him. "You _don't _know," she commented darkly. "You _can't_. You grew up for this- most of your life was spent on this one goal, and, when it didn't happen, when V-V-Voldemort won, you carried on just like anything, you…"

"Voldemort never-" She placed a finger to his lips, silencing him. She had stopped sobbing, although tears still came out. She was much calmer.

"No, Love, let me finish." She took a deep, steadying breath. "You were so very strong, Harry. So full of conviction. Everybody followed you, because that's what they saw. You'd been beaten, but not broken- not like the rest of us. They thought you knew what to do, and, when we found out that you were as clueless as the rest of us, well, we followed you because we were used to it. _You_ were the one that held us together, Harry, and, yes, you kept a lot of us from dying sooner then we did. When P-P-Padma… well, yeah. I followed you after that because you were the only one I thought had a hope in the world. You kept us going, kept us fighting, and, when we were running, you kept us from stopping and just dying on the road side. I've followed you unwaveringly for six thousand or so miles- first as a friend, then as a lover. And I'm tired, Harry. I'm fucking _exhausted_. I don't have your attitude, the knowledge that I won't die, that I'll triumph in the end simply because I'm me. You do. So… so. Yes. I just… oh, Harry. Whatever am I going to do with you?" She smiled at him, and she never seemed more beautiful.

"You could kiss me," he said hopefully. She laughed, and slapped his arm lightly, but obliged him. When they broke apart, gasping for their scant breath, he told her, "Parvati, you know… Voldemort never won. As long as we still breathe- well, as long as we _remember_, he can't take that away. He simply can't win."

"You old sap!" She kissed him again, and he pushed her back against the dirty wall, although neither cared. She wrapped her long legs around his waist, deepening the kiss as he lightly tugged at her hair, making her moan into his mouth. When they broke it apart, they were breathing heavily. She whispered into his ear, "At this moment, I _particularly_ feel like reliving last night."

Harry smiled, and kissed her again, before she led him back to where they slept.

Harry Potter was troubled.

It's not like he wasn't usually troubled- he'd been like that since well before Hogwarts fell. No, this was… different. He stood at the window, which seemed to be merely a hole in the wall. He was clothed only in the mangled robes that had seen him through the years- tattered, torn, full of holes and burns. He knew that Parvati still had hers, even though she never wore it. On it was a faded Gryffindor badge, which he ran his finger across gently. It was, in his mind, his singular most precious possession- more than gold and jewels and magic- simply because it reminded him of a time before all this shit, when everything thing was… better, was the word he placed in the gap.

Yes, better.

He spared a glance out the window, noticing that the grimy sunlight was getting longer and dimmer, meaning that sundown was not far off. He couldn't see much else besides that, the window was so dirty. But then again, this _was_ the slums, after all. He quickly glanced at Parvati, seeing that she was asleep, before making his way over to the corner of the room closest to the door. Quickly, he undid the charms that made it less noticeable to intruders- true invisibility was rather beyond the both of them. Then, he quietly moved Parvati's trunk from on top of his.

A single trunk; that was all of their possessions in the world. It struck Harry how small they were, and he shook his head sadly.

He opened his trunk, and, again, undid the charms around the small box, about the size of what one would ship a sheaf of letters in through the post. Quietly, he opened it.

He hadn't done this in a while- two months at least, by his count. He was sure that Parvati knew, but, hell, they both had their ways of coping. This was his.

Inside were Hogwarts badges, just like on his lapel. Hundreds of them, in varying states of damage- some were burned, some frayed, some barely held together by anything but magic and goodwill. Hundreds- he had taken each off of the body of one of his classmates when they had died. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw- even some Slytherin, although they were in the minority. He knew who each badge belonged to, knew their stories, their names and faces and voices. He knew their laugh, their smile, the way they grieved, and he knew the way each and every one had died.

Harry Potter turned his head and, finally, let tears spill down his cheeks. In the morning, that's how Parvati found him, curled in on himself, tears fallen like rain into the box filled with graves like fallen leaves.

And, all the while, looking in the window with pride and hate and jealousy, pale orbs like the moon gazed inwards, seeing nothing, but knowing _everything_. She sat there, unmoving, barely blinking, because she _knew_.

She knew how it would end.

They paused just outside the exit, preparing the streets where muggles and enemies roamed. As was their habit, they each did the others charms, making sure that no cracks appeared in the disguises. After ten years of this- more, actually- they were rather good at it. Still, it was a good thing that both of them came, more or less, from muggle roots.

Harry had, of course, grown up at the Dursleys, and, while it had done no real good as growth as a person, it did show him who muggles generally dressed. Parvati had been born outside of Delhi, to a non-magical father and witch mother. Once the father had left them for their strangeness, her mother had brought them to Britain, not telling either of them of magic until a year before they were of age to enter Hogwarts.

Either way, the two stepped out of the door looking entirely different. Harry was a black man of medium build, wearing a jersey with the number 01 on it, coupled with shorts and running shoes. Parvati looked like a young white woman, wearing tight jeans and a simple shirt. They kissed lightly, and then went down the street, Parvati in front by about twenty paces, and Harry behind, not caring to hide that he was looking at her bum.

They made their way- slowly- deeper into the slums, careful not to misstep, because around here, people went missing and no one knew or cared. Still, they had time, and time aplenty. Their target would either stay where he said, or not. Harry didn't much care, so long as it kept them out of that infernal house they used as headquarters. Besides, he didn't expect much new information, anyways. Just more headaches for themselves and everyone else.

Ever since Voldemort had taken over forceful control of Britain- he had put himself up as Minister of Magic, and also he had assassinated the Prime Minister of the muggle world, and was using a supply of polyjuice to impersonate him, which granted him complete control of magical and non-magical Great Britain. Nowadays, he was making inroads on the rest of the world- France was buddy-buddy with England to start with, Germany was on the verge of civil war, and Spain had a Death Eater as a Prime Minister.

The Americans feared that Voldemort was planning to start a war, but Harry knew better- all to well, in fact. Voldemort wouldn't risk open war- giving muggles weapons en masse? No, no, never! Instead, he would put the pressure on the rest of the world, until someone stupidly decided to invade him, and then he would crush them under his heel like a cockroach. And he could do it, Harry knew- almost half of the U.N. were Voldemort supporters, and another quarter could be Imperioused in a pinch. Basically, Voldemort held the rest of the world between his fingers, if only he would grasp it. Immortality went hand in hand with world domination, it seemed.

They arrived at their destination within an hour- 14 Kalick Street, which was in the middle of what amounted to a magical ghetto in the middle of New York City. Parvati knocked on the door three times with her wand, waiting for an answer. In a few moments, a pair of eyes appeared from the woodwork. "Password," it drolled.

"Curmudgeon," said Harry.

"Yes, you are," said the door, the eyes disappearing back into the rotten wood as it swung open with a groan. With a sidelong smile at his lover, Harry stepped in, wand casually held in one hand. He tapped it along the wall as he walked- one… two taps… three…

By the time he came to seven, he paused, closed his eyes, and then punched the wall. His fist made a crunching noise as it went through the illusion. The wall disappeared, revealing a narrow hallway branching off from the main one. Hurriedly, the two of them stepped in, watching until the illusion came back. It really was a smart idea, if imperfect- even if an enemy found the illusion, they'd waste valuable time trying to find the spell to break through it, instead of using a more physical method.

Parvati laced her fingers within his as they moved down the hall. Soon enough, the sounds of a large card game reached his ears, and he smiled. "Oi, Nikolai! Is this how you greet your honored guests?" They stopped just at the edge of where light came into the darkened hallway.

A man poked his head in. "And who said that you were a guest and not a freeloader, eh, Potter?" Then, he smiled, and he and Harry embraced like old friends. He even bowed to Parvati, and kissed her hand like a gentleman. He led them back in to his main room, displacing the charms that made it seem that upwards of a dozen people were there, instead of one person and his old dog.

Said dog padded over softly to Parvati, who set about scratching it behind the ears and tail, causing it to shake its hind legs in ecstasy. "Good dog, good Rogie," she cooed.

Harry and his contact sat down at the large table in the center of the room, Nikolai facing the door, Harry facing him. Without a word, Nikolai poured them each a cup of tea, and Harry quietly put it on his lap before testing it for poison. No need to insult the man before he actually betrayed them. "So, my friend," the Ukrainian said, did the skids give you any trouble on the way here?" That was what the Americans called muggles, skids. Or, at least, what they called them in the city.

"Oh, the usual," said the scarred man as he sipped his tea lightly. "Nothing me and Par couldn't handle. But, you know why I'm here, Niko."

The wiry looking man smiled. "All business, as usual. I like that, my friend, I like that. Alright, well, I trust that our usual rates apply?"

"Yep," said Harry. "Although I require another piece of information."

"Oh, really? And what is that?" Harry could see the mans eyes widen greedily.

"Something that can wait until after you give me the usual."

"What? Oh, yes, of course, of course. Here!" He handed Harry a sheaf of papers with a smile, and Harry threw him two galleons as payment. Just like usual.

Leafing through the report, Harry frowned as Nikolai's spy-ring told him more bad news. France was now under Voldemort's control, the first opening shots had been fired in Germany and Poland, and Iceland had stopped all communications. Greenland was having reports of werewolves in the hills, and giants were conducting raids on muggle villages in the north- Finland, Scandinavia, the Netherlands, Denmark. The Warsaw Pact- the new alliance between Russia, Poland, the Ukraine, Slovakia, and various other Slavic countries to better protect them against big bad Britain- had buttoned, not letting anyone past their borders except for the odd diplomat. Spain was full of bloody riots. Just like usual.

Harry sighed, and secreted the sheaf of paper- maybe twenty pages of information that Nikolai had collected over the week for Harry's eyes. He would read it later. "Thanks, Niko."

"And… that other information you needed?"

Harry wasn't stupid- Nikolai was a greedy, scared little rat trying to make a profit over a pile of bodies, but his spy ring was second to none. They had first heard of him in Algiers, and had gotten into contact with him, finally, three years later in Le Monnes. His information had helped him strike quite a few blows against the Dark Lord- if only they had had this sort of spying when the war started… ah, well. It had taken Harry the better part of five months in New York City (and more money then he cared to admit) before he had found the slippery bastard. Harry could only hope that his gold would suffice to keep Nikolai's tongue from babbling to whoever wanted to kill him today. "I want information on Luna Lovegood, a classmate of mine who I _think_ is alive somewhere in this city."

"I… could do that, I think. In fact…" Wordlessly, Harry slid four shining galleons across the table to the Slav. "Ah, yes, I remember. There seems to be a group of people, no better than children, giving themselves scars just like yours." He pointed at the lightning bolt scar on the mans forehead, even though it was still hidden by the glamour. "If you come back tomorrow, I can probably give you more information than I have now."

"I see," said Harry, nodding. "Anything you can tell me now?"

"Besides that I think it's your best bet at finding your friend? Well, yes. They call themselves The Helljumpers."

A faraway look came into Harry's eyes, and Parvati looked up sharply. They were known by their ability to apperate into almost anywhere, and then escape quickly. They were a terror in the night, they struck without warning and disappeared without a word. The Old Army, the D.A., where his friends had killed and met their deaths fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters. They were known by their enemies as The Helljumpers.

Without another word, and a nod to Nikolai, they left, hurrying back towards where they slept fitfully.


	3. Me up at does

Harry remembered many things, for a man so relatively young, even by muggle standards. He remembered running through open fields, dodging spells from enemies he was sure he had killed, and laughing all the while. He remembered facing off against creatures three times his size or more with only his bare hands. He remembered fighting against some of his best friends when they were under the Imperious curse. He remembered laughing in the rain, collecting badges of the fallen, killing enemies indiscriminately because he could no longer bring himself to care. He remembered Draco Malfoy.

Ah, yes, Draco. The rat was head of the Birmingham group of Death Eaters, heading up an army of almost two hundred people. Silently, they made their way, unnoticed. Not that it was a hard thing, really, as there were only five of them left. Harry, Neville, Parvati, Seamus Finnegan, and Lavender Brown. He would have liked to have said that they were the toughest bastards in the land, ready to kill at a moments notice, comrades in arms that would follow each other to Hell and back, but... well, they weren't. Lavender never seemed to get over the shakes, even though she had gone into battle of one sort or another at least three dozen times. The poor girl looked as if she was going to bolt at the next loud noise, and Harry didn't blame her. She was only here because she had nowhere else to go. Neville would still trip over himself at times, although Harry would still trust him with his life in a second. Parvati still couldn't look anyone in the eye after Padma's death, and Seamus had simply stopped talked talking except for spells and simple, one word answers.

All in all, they were the best that he could get, and he wouldn't trade them for anything. He scratched his arm, feeling where the newly etched tattoos writhed on his skin, almost as if it wanted release. Well, he wouldn't kid himself, it did.

There was no plan here, no careful trap to spring- just anger, blind and violent. Birmingham wasn't the closest place to them, but it held Draco Malfoy- Draco, who had shunned his friends, Draco Malfoy, who refused to fight face to face. Draco Malfoy, who had killed Ginny Weasley. Harry cracked his knuckles. He would enjoy this.

Oathbreaker writhed about under his skin, the golden weapon still not used to being bound to someone after thousands of years of disuse. The magical weapon was still new to Harry, still an unknown. It fought with him for control, for the right to spill blood- any blood. But it was a necessary evil... or, at least, he sincerely hoped that it was.

The city seemed to be under a pall, a forced dark. Wordlessly, the lot of them tried to find some type of happy thought, but they were very few, and very weak. It was almost as if Britain proper had become like Azkaban. It was true- it was still mid-summer, but the days were getting short, like winter. It was cold in the night, the wind carrying a biting edge that made the arctic seem mild and temperate in comparison.

But, in due time, they made their way towards the center common, where Malfoy and his death eaters had made their sleeping quarters. The building itself was gaudy and overly large- Malfoys flare for the dramatic, he supposed. As far as Harry knew, almost three quarters of the soldiers under Malfoy's command weren't actually Death Eaters, merely people who were caught up in the crossfire and lost their will to an Imperious curse. If they could save them, well, then so much the better.

It was simple sneaking in- there were only a half dozen guards going about the motions, eyes dull and wands out. After fifteen minutes of watching them, they figured out their movements, and slipped by when they weren't looking. Then, it was a straight run into the building.

There were three floors- the companions spread out, searching. Nothing on the first floor, it seemed. With a nod from Harry, they entered the second. Nothing but two doors in a long hallway. Harry poked his head into one- it was full to the brim with wizards, simply sleeping on the floor, some places stacked two or three high. In the other room were the death eaters, more than two score of them. Luckily, they all were sleeping. It was the work of a moment to take their wands from them, setting them in a pile outside the door, which Harry hid under several spells. Harry left Parvati, Seamus and Lavender to guard either door, although he didn't suspect much trouble from wizards with no wands. And then, He and Neville went up to the last floor to seek out Draco Malfoy.

Again, this floor was nothing more than a hallway and a door at the end. Two guards stood on either side of the doorway as Malfoy busied himself with some type of paperwork. Harry took care of one guard with a quick spell, and Neville simply slit the others throat. Malfoy looked up. "Potter!" He reached for his wand, and-

"Expeliamus!" Neville sent the object flying, and Harry sent ropes from his wand to bind the Malfoy boy.

"Malfoy," said Harry venomously.

"Potter," said Malfoy rather smugly.

Harry looked around a moment, and then sent Neville to guard the door. "You don't seem to be in much a position to be cocky, seeing as I've just taken care of you and your little army."

Malfoy started laughing. "You think you scare me, Harry?" Looking back, that was one of the first, and maybe only times, that Draco had said his first name.

"No, not yet." The threat hung unspoken between them. Malfoy started laughing again.

"No, you don't know. Anything you can do, anything you can think of… The Dark Lord can find something ten times worse, easily. A hundred times!" He gazed directly into Harry's green eyes. "Do you really think that anything you could do to me hasn't been done by _him_ already? You're too fucking late, Potter!"

"I only need to hurt you, Malfoy." Harry leaned in to the boy… man, actually, by now. Draco started struggling against his bonds like he was trying to apparate in spite of the block, still chuckling oddly.

"Do you know how she screamed, Potter?" He grinned at Harry, his teeth sparkling.

"Don't you dare, don't you fucking dare…" Harry ground it out as a whisper, and Malfoy laughed cruelly.

"Do you know how she begged? How she pleaded with me so I'd stop? She promised me anything, Harry. She looked so pretty when we strung her up." Harry punched Malfoy right across the jaw, eyes blazing. Draco merely spat out a bloody tooth. "Do you know how _slick _she was? How her tears tasted? She was fucking delicious, Harry!"

"Shut the fuck up!" He punched him again, and he heard something crack in Malfoy's skull. Draco only cackled as blood ran down from his hairline. He was going prematurely bald, Harry idly noticed. Amazing what islands could be in a storm.

"She would have done it, too, the little tart! She couldn't take it, she have told us everything! I was sad when we had to kill poor little Ginny, really, she-"

"I said…" Of its own accord, Oathbreaker slid out of his arm, sparkling golden and looking deadly sharp at the end. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" With a single swing over his head, Harry brought the end crashing down on the side of Dracos' skull. The ex-Slytherin's eyes rolled up in his skull, and Draco Malfoy was no more. But Harry didn't care. He gripped Oathbreaker in both hands, and for the first time, he realized just how heavy the large chain was. It seemed to be growing, as if it sensed what was coming and wanted more of itself to partake in the violence. Harry bunched the chains together in both hands, raised it over his head, and then sent it crashing down onto Dracos skull. The corpse shuddered, but didn't make a noise except for the blood that was now dripping down onto the floor. Undaunted, Harry raised the chains again, and brought them down once more. And then, breathing heavily, he did it again. And again. And again.

He didn't know how many times, really, except for that when Neville pulled him away, there wasn't much left of Dracos skull. As if it was sated, Oathbreaker twined itself back into him, leaving a bloody smear across his arms.

Leaving, they found two things. One, a room full of confused wizards recently liberated from the Imperious curse. Two, a rather hysterical Lavender. Harry chose to deal with the former first..

Sparing a nod at Lavender, who was being held lightly by Seamus, Harry stepped into the room with a hundred and two score plus wizards. They all began yammering at him at once, mostly as to the whereabouts of their wands. Off handedly, Harry revealed where they had been hidden, right near the entrance. They swarmed for them like rats; Harry was mildly surprised that no one was trampled. "Now, what do you lot want?" They all started shouting, so he put his wand to his throat. "ONE AT A TIME!" The sonorous charm worked like… well, like a charm.

A tall wizard, who appeared to have appointed himself as leader, came forward. "We want to go home," he stated simply.

Harry sighed. "And what then? Wait for more of Voldemort's goons to show up?"

"And what would you suggest, Harry Potter?" This was a different witch, shorter and rounder, ruddy face blinking back tears. "That we fight? That we leave our families behind? We know what you did, you Failure!" She shrunk back into the crowd as roars of assent greeted Harry's ears.

"We want to protect our families!"

"We want to bring them somewhere safe!"

Harry interjected- "There is nowhere that's safe! Everywhere you go, Voldemort will be there eventually!"

"But until then, we will seek its succor," parried the well-spoken wizard from before. "You must understand, we do not want a war. Not now."

Harry sighed. He turned, going through the door. Before he closed it, he said, "If you would have it or not, war is here. Run, hide, cower. You will be found, and dragged out of your holes eventually." The door slammed shut.

Harry leaned against the door, tired, drained. His eyes fell on Lavender, who had seemed to calm down a little. "Yes, love?" He smiled weakly at her.

"I-I-it's Par," she stuttered. "She l-l-locked herself in th-th-the room with the… Oh, God, Harry, they were sc-sc-_screaming!"_

Without another word to her, he went to the opposite door. He turned the knob- locked. "Alohamora," he whispered, and tried again. Nothing. So, he knocked three times on the door. After a moment, it swung open with a creak, and he stepped inside.

Parvati sat to one side, clutching her wand and rocking back and forth, knees clutched to her chest. "Hello, Harry," she said calmly.

The Potter boy looked around him. The remains of fifty-two death eaters lay around him, and it wasn't pretty. None of them were whole corpses- he was pretty sure the largest piece was a torso that was missing the arms. Several were burned; others had seemingly bled to death, although they could have bled after they were eviscerated, too. Everywhere he saw a face, which was few and far between, they sported a look of pain or terror. Or both.

Blood painted the walls and ceiling. Harry gingerly stepped over someone's intestines, who he seemed to have been trying to pull back into himself as he died, and sat next to the Patil girl. "Hello, Parvati." He really didn't know much else to say, or what could be said, so he just let it lie for a few minutes.

It was Parvati who broke the silence, arms still about her knees. "I locked myself in here, you know. Lav and Seamus didn't help. Didn't even know. Don't blame them."

Harry shook his head slowly. "Yep, I know that much. Yep, I do. No blame here." They drifted into silence for a few more minutes. Finally, he said, "You're a very messy girl, you know that?" He whistled lowly. "And you did this all in, what, five minutes?"

She laughed lightly, but at least it was genuine. "You were in there for almost twenty minutes, Harry. But, yeah, I had guessed that. Ummmm… Harry…?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it bad that I don't regret it?"

"What, this? I suppose not, I've seen them do worse."

She punched him on the shoulder. "No, I don't care about that. Well…" She looked out at the carnage she had caused, the dripping blood, the broken bodies, the screams that would never be heard by the world. "At least, I hope the blood doesn't ruin my shoes."

"I'd be more worried about stepping in a kidney," Harry quipped. She laughed again.

"Thanks, Harry. I mean… well, all of this. The war. Padma. Everyone, really. They're all dead, and we've killed so many people, and, God, I don't regret it for a second. Does that make me a bad person? Does that make me evil?"

"Not regretting it doesn't mean you don't want them back," Harry murmured, thinking about all of them- Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Dean, Justin, Hagrid, and more then he cared to count. "Just means you're a pragmatist."

She sighed. "Thanks, Harry." She looked around sheepishly at the room. "I guess I got carried away, huh?"

"Just a little."

"Ha ha ha. Please, don't tell the others? They already think I'm a crazy fuck." Harry nodded, seeing how they could think that, seeing how she fought. Lots of cackling and throat slitting and dancing.

"It'll be our little secret," he said. Parvati smiled, and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. "I guess we should go back?"

"Yeah," said Harry reluctantly. He was comfortable there. "And remember, Par, our little secret." Then, he kissed her lightly on the lips, and stood up. After a moment, Parvati followed him.

Yes, Harry Potter remembered many things. He remembered looking Fenrir Greyback in the eyes as the werewolf wriggled away his life impaled on Foeseeker, the silver spear. He remembered the first time he and Parvati made love. He remembered killing more people than he could remember. Harry Potter remembered everything.

New York City was a strange place, by wizarding standards. Magical folk and muggles (Or whatever they called them here) interacted as if they were all the same; magic was practiced in the streets, and the city itself was carved up into what amounted to tiny empires of people with different origins, ideals, or skin colors. In fact, the gangers were so territorial that being a different color could get you killed on some streets. In fact, Harry Potter was learning that the hard way.

He and Parvati were just walking along, him spelled up to be a black man similar to who he looked like yesterday, and Parvati like a young white woman. Suddenly, the pair was accosted by two burly looking gangers- Aryan Brotherhood, if the swastika on ones forehead bespoke of anything. And even before they were within earshot of them on the busy street, Harry could have cursed himself for the oversight. They should have gone through a different section, but their destination was out of the way as it was. He and Parvati shared a meaningful look, and then sped up, going through the crowd.

They made it two blocks before the crowd thinned, tapering out until it was only Harry, Parvati, and the two gangers. "Have a problem there, Missie?" They didn't spare a glance back, hands still clasped tightly together. They turned a corner, and saw that it was going back towards the city center, and they were going towards the outskirts. They made an abrupt about-face, and almost ran smack-dab into the Aryans. The one with the swastika repeated, "Nigger problems, Missie?" His friend nodded, grinning.

These two were either new, or just plain stupid. As far as Harry knew, the Brotherhood around here didn't accost people in the streets, unless it was drastic, which this certainly wasn't. "I'm fine," Parvati ground out. Her eyes held a dangerous glint, which Harry knew meant that blood was going to be spilt if he didn't do something now.

"We don't want any trouble," Harry began. "Just passing through."

"Well, jigaboo," said the hitherto silent ganger in a long, Southern accent- Tennessee, if Harry thought right, "We weren't asking you, but this fine Lady over here. We believe that she'd be much more comfortable in the company of two outstanding folk like ourselves. So shove off, night-fighter!" He quickly threw a punch that would have caught Harry across the jaw if he hadn't been as quick as he was.

"Oh, so a quick nigger we got here, eh? A runner! Did your gran'pa run like that with shackles on his legs? Let's see how you dance, nigger! C'mon, throw us a jig, jigaboo!" They started laughing goonishly, the swastika bearer drawing out a long knife. Harry merely raised an eyebrow.

"I believe that you are threatening me, my friend," said Harry simply, heartbeat doubling in preparation of a fight.

"Damn right, darkie. You know what they call this here frog-sticker back home?"

Silently, Harry released Oathbreaker, the golden chain seeming to dance by itself in the air. "No, but in my country, we call it probable cause."

"The fuck!" The knife swung at Harry, who, again, dodged out of the way. Then, he swung Oathbreaker above his head once, almost lazily, and sent the sharp end careening into the mans under-jaw. Harry put his foot on the mans chest, pushing with his foot while simultaneously pulling at the enchanted chain. The man gave a quick cry before his jaw ripped off of his face with a tearing sound, blood fountaining as his tongue flopped about uselessly around his ruined face. The removed jawbone whistled through the air, turning like a macabre boomerang. Harry turned to the other one, to see him fall to the ground as Parvati dug her heel into his throat. He gurgled wetly, struggling weakly to remove the offending foot from his esophagus. After he stopped struggling, and his companion was busy running about in the middle of the streets trying to find his missing lower face, they took off at a quick clip, suppressing smiles.

"Did you see how the other one ran about? Like a fucking headless chicken!" Parvati laughed at her wit, before casting a quick _scourgify _on Harry's sodden, blood soaked robes.

Harry started laughing. "I liked how you dealt with the other one, though. He never stood a chance."

"Yup, no one touches the mighty Potter while I'm around. Unless it's me," she added.

"Yes, well, you, obviously. But I don't have a choice with that, do I?"

"Not at all," she said. They walked onwards, almost for ten minutes, finally arriving at their destination. It was a large apartment, slightly run down, with cracking cement and red paint. They let themselves in through the front door, and then up two flights of stairs, to a room marked 3-0-7. The door was green and chipped, the handle well worn, but not yet rusted. Parvati knocked on it softly, waited a moment, then opened the door. Inside was a single room; a bed tucked into a corner, an attached kitchen off to the side, and a single man, old and bent, sitting alone in the middle of the room in a overly large easy chair. His hair was sparse and long, thin strands reaching down past his shoulders. His face was wrinkled, eyes closed in a way that suggested that he was always tired, and a portion of his nose was missing. When he opened his mouth, one could see the few remaining teeth, blackened and decayed. His clothes were dirty, and it seemed like he hadn't moved in a long, long time.

Harry smiled. "Hello, old friend." The oldster didn't respond, but neither had expected him to. "I need your help, one last time. I swear it. And, as before… I am sorry." Slowly, Harry let Oathbreaker out of his skin, the chain slinking out like it was ashamed for what it was about to do. Seeing it, the oldsters' eyes widened, his breathing getting quicker as he started to murmur under his breath. Harry smiled sadly. This could kill him. "Godslayer, I need you," he intoned softly. The gold chain began to dance and churn, the links seeming to melt into one another, melding and molding until it came into the shape of a sword. After a few more moments, the shape solidified into what the Norse knew as Godslayer- the golden sword that had slew treacherous Loki and noble Baldur both. The ancient weapon hummed with an arcane power, but it still thirsted- Harry could sense how much it wanted him to kill, maim, slay. He placed the broadsword in the old mans lap, and his breathing seemed to get quicker still. His hands, old and feeble, spidery and cracked nails, gripped it slowly, seeming to recover some of their former strength,

Harry did not know the mans name, only that he had been an old man long before other oldsters were mere children. The man was a relic, a beast of ages ago. He was also the result of what happened when a seer received no magical training- his mind was destroyed by the visions, his body broken. This man had looked Death in the face, and he had _stared_. And now, it took this- a weapon that had destroyed empires and killed Gods- to awaken that power. And each time they did it, it was killing him, even if it was only the third time. The first, they had asked if there was any place that could give them safety and succor. His answer, after he had burned and raged and cried for the better part of an hour, was that there was none. The second; Could Voldemort be defeated now? The answer was indeterminate to them, for the man was so exhausted that he had merely given a shallow nod of the head before collapsing back into his chair. That was a month ago. And now, the third question- "Is Luna Lovegood in this city?"

For a moment, a split-second, the man looked at Harry, lucidity returning to his eyes. Then, he opened his mouth and screamed. He still clutched the sword in one hand, the blade shaking from the strain as energies washed out of the man, his screams amplifying to fever pitch as he stood up. He opened his arms wide, and his feet left the floor by a few inches. The room shook, almost as if the world was quaking to this mans pain and suffering. His fingers opened wide, although the sword seemed to hover in the air with him.

Godslayer started to bubble and churn, as if it was trying to escape the man. It sheared and struggled, chains appearing as it seemed to evaporate. Within a minute, Oathbreaker started to fall out of the hilt, link by link, steam rising. More voices chorused the old man, screams of men and gods and monsters. When the last link fell, when Godslayer was no more, once again hidden in Oathbreaker, the man fell back into his chair, breathing, in, out, in, out like a bellows. Harry knew that this was the only definitive way to know, the only way to truly be sure. It was killing him. Slowly, Harry reached down, ever closer to the mans thin, cracked lips. The sound of his breathing became his existence. Slowly, pendulously, and with a voice that sounded like Death, the oldster muttered, "Yes."

Harry stood back up, not helping to hide the smile on his face. There was no doubt now- Luna Lovegood was alive, and in New York City. Now, there was only the matter of finding her.


	4. all in green went my love riding

Nikolai looked nervous. In his experience, that was a bad thing. "What's wrong, Niko?"

The Ukrainian shook his head, putting on a smile. "Wrong? No, nothing, nothing is _wrong_, or at least, nothing is wrong that you two should worry about." He brought out more tea, adjusting the bathrobe he was wearing. It was pink, and had a small blue bunny over the left breast. He did a strange hop-skip over to his dresser, from which he pulled a small folder. He handed the manila envelope to Harry, who looked it over carefully. It told him just as much as he thought it would have, which was precious little. Niko was good, but Luna was the best; she had always covered her tracks, even before the war. But, still, it was just the start that he needed.

Harry was quite capable at doing the job Nikolai did- probably even better, being that his skills were fired in the crucible of war- he simply didn't have the time, inclination, luxury, or resources that the little Ukrainian had. He handed the envelope to Parvati, who carelessly leafed through it before placing it back on the table.

Harry leaned back in his chair, eyeing the suddenly jumpy Niko. He sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, Niko, you can go ahead and do it now. We wouldn't think any less of you, at any rate, it's not like it hasn't happened before."

The Slavs eyes widened to about the size of dinner plates. "What? I, I don't know what you are talking about, Mr. Potter, sir!" He really was a horrible actor.

"Let me spell it out for you," said Parvati. She stood up, throwing her arms around for emphasis as she spoke. "You betray us to Voldemort, Death Eaters and the like burst through the wall, because, you know, they're not decent enough to use doors like _regular_ evil asshole people. A fight breaks out, me and Harry escape, and you are dragged kicking and screaming to whoever paid you for this." She took a deep breath, and the started doing a passable impression of the startled Ukrainian. "Oh, no, Master, I did nothing, nothing! It was them, their fault, not mine! Spare me!" She quickly stood up, looming over where her cowed self had been a second before, her voice changing to deep and throaty. "No, you fool! You have failed me! Slap, slap, slap, whine, whine, whine, blah, blah, blah. And then, he kills you," she finished cheerily. She clapped her hands together. "Any questions?"

Niko shook his head. "Not really." He looked at his watch. "Care to stay for another few minutes?"

Harry sighed. "Not really. I've gotten really tired of all this ambushing nonsense. You people really have no imagination when it comes to this stuff. If you don't mind, Niko, we'll be off. Good luck," said Harry sincerely. He had been a good contact, for what it was worth. Too bad he was going to die soon. He didn't bother turning around when he heard a shout, merely casting a quick charm to keep the door closed for a second longer.

Then, the apartment exploded.

Fiery debris bounced off of the shield that Parvati had quickly set up. He looked at her in surprise. _That was unexpected_. "Did you do that?" She shook her head, and shrugged her shoulders. Harry looked around, seeing that, for just weathering a fiery Armageddon-esque advent, the building seemed remarkably less likely to self-implode then he had expected. He turned as a small voice made a _Hem-hem_ noise, akin to clearing its throat.

The bearer was a small, almost childish person, dressed in horrid white trousers and shirt, a mask obscuring his face and a top-hat upon his head. Next to him was a similarly dressed goon. "Mister Potter, is it?" He nodded, mindful of the wand pointed at his head. "And Misses Patil?" She nodded in turn, eyeing the duo with skepticism. She looked over her shoulder at another pair which had come in behind them, four wands pointing at them. "Wonderful! Your wands, if you would?"

"Sure, my good Droog," said Harry cheekily, him and Parvati rolling their wands over. No matter. He could still eviscerate them, if needs be.

"Quite," said the small man, and Harry realized that his voice did indeed sound too childish for anyone more than a few years into puberty. He sounded like a fucking twelve year old! Quickly looking around, none of their captors seemed to be more than fifteen.

And they just gave their wands to them. "Fuck my eyes," said Parvati quietly, as she seemed to have realized it too.

"Now if you'll just come with us?" He motioned significantly with his free hand. Harry and Parvati walked right past them, although they were quickly caught up. Flanked on either side, and with the other two at their back. They were led to a long, jet black limo, shoved into the back- alone, even- and then, they sped off.

_Harry looked into his eyes, made to stare, even. Fenrir Greyback- there could be no other- stared back at him, seemingly grinning at him. It- Harry couldn't bring himself to think of Greyback as a man anymore- gulped down the last piece of flesh. Beneath him, Seamus gurgled horridly, trying to shovel his intestines back into his torn gut. Fenrir removed its foot from his chest, stepping towards Harry._

_It advanced slowly, eyeing Oathbreaker as it writhed and danced around Potter, a snake ready to strike. Fenrir grinned, if it could be called that, blood dripping off its muzzle. It stalked towards Harry, slowly, softly, arms rising to its sides so that they were up parallel to the ground, almost as if to start an embrace. It stood not two feet from him now, staring Harry in the eyes._

_Harry calmly swung Oathbreakers' heavy end into his skull. It made a crunching noise as the bones there broke and gave to the golden weight. The beast slumped to the ground, but Harry knew that it wasn't dead. Gold wouldn't kill it, no sir._

_That didn't stop him from slamming Oathbreaker into the beasts' skull another three time._

_He looked down at his shoes. "Damn. Werewolf blood on me." Then, he waited patiently. Slowly, for hours, it seemed, as the werewolf rose once more._

_He was waiting. As Fenrir began to jump towards him, he breathed the word, "Wolfsbane." Oathbreaker began to writhe and melt, the hot gold pulling itself out of his skin with the familiar sensations of pain and burning. He had long since stopped crying afterwards._

_The spear was long- a little longer than him, at any rate. Like the other two weapons, it was golden, but he wasn't sure where the silver tip had come from- not that it mattered to him._

_And so, Fenrir Greyback, the most feared werewolf in all the British Isles, came to rest impaled on a magical spear, wriggling like a fish, vainly snapping at Harry's face in a hamlet inside of Wallachia._

_For his part, Potter spat on his face, and grinned as the light in its eyes faded._

_The spear faded away, the tattoos on his body writhing again, never giving him peace or succor. So be it. He spared one last look at the two bodies, and then spit on Fenrir's corpse again. And then, he turned around and walked away._

"Wake up, Love." Someone was shaking him. His eyes fluttered open to reveal his dark-skinned lover.

"Morning. Where are we?" He stretched.

"More like evening. And I don't know." She looked sidelong at a watch she wore. It had stopped at exactly 5:42. Judging by what little he could see of the darkened sky, it was getting close to midnight. Even going by muggle routes, it shouldn't have taken six hours to get to anywhere in this city. The kids had backtracked like crazy, then, or they were in a different city.

The door opened, the mask wearers helping them out. Well, they weren't dead. _That's a start_. "Miss Lovegood will see you now," said the shortest one, who seemed to be leading.

"Lovegood?"

"Yes, yes, Lovegood," he reiterated. "Quickly, please!" Their captors seemed more nervous now, casting glances about the darkened streets. _Someone's afraid of the dark,_ thought Harry. Once they got inside the tall building, however, and the door closed behind them, their strangely clad captors seemed much more at ease. That was good, to Harry's mind. The more nervous someone was, the more likely they were to kill you.

Walking besides him, Parvati abruptly said, "You know, I wish that, just once, that our contact wouldn't betray us. It's really a tiresome game."

"Oh, come now," he quipped gently. "Karkarovh wasn't a complete bastard, and Guilsson only betrayed us after they threatened his family."

Her nose crinkled cutely. "Bah. Karkarovh only helped us for so long because he wanted my ass. Yeltsin was fine."

"Yeltsin is fine to you, because _you_ wanted _his_ ass."

She smirked, adding a bit more sway to her hips, even though Harry couldn't see it. "Jealous, are we, Mister Potter?"

"Maybe a little, not that it matters. I am the one you share a bed with, after all."

"Damn right. And besides, your ass is much better than Yeltsins' was." She gave the mentioned article a playful slap.

"We're here, Lovebirds," said one of their guards, with a hint of disgust. Apparently, to him, girls still had cooties. Silently, he opened the door, letting them step inside before he closed it behind them.

Inside, it was sparsely lit, but from what he could see, there wasn't much. A large desk sat under the only window in the room, a sword hung lightly from one wall, and a painting form the other- the painting looked like an Escher. And sitting across from them sat none other then Luna Lovegood. Harry felt like crying. She nodded at them. "Harry, Parvati. It's been too long."

Harry couldn't find the words to say, only staring at Luna, who was lightly smiling in the half-light. It was Parvati who spoke first. "And, dear I say, Luna, where have you been for… ten years now?" She crossed her arms, glaring at the blonde.

Luna stood, coming out from behind the desk. She looked just like Harry remembered her, except for a few details. For one, half of her head was cropped so short that it was almost shaved, and the other half went past her waist. She seemed to have gotten bigger, bust wise, although she could still be considered generally small. She was dressed in a simple shirt and skirt, and he remembered how she had so loved to twirl around in a skirt.

How he had missed her. She said, "And I could ask the same of you two, if I hadn't been keeping tabs on you for the past few years. But, yes, myself, I've been right here, building up the New DA. I've been fighting for you, Harry, fighting against You-Know-Who." She smiled widely, spreading her arms.

"I've heard. The Helljumpers, eh? Seems a bit too sentimental. Are they all so young?" He betrayed nothing by his tones, although he was simmering inside.

"Yes, all. Just like the old days."

"God Damnit, Luna! This isn't Hogwarts! They have a choice! They're fucking _children_!" He slammed his fist into the wall nearest him.

"Then what were we, Harry?" She seemed to shrink for a moment as she said it quietly.

"That was different, that-"

"No it wasn't! It wasn't any fucking different, and you know it!" She wiped at her eyes. After a moment, she smiled again. "So, welcome home, Lover."

Parvati gave them both a look, before saying, "What am I missing here?"

"Nothing," Harry quickly said, and Luna laughed at him.

"Bah. You never stopped loving me."

"I _never_ loved you. You _used _me," he growled at her. She laughed again, tilting her head to one side.

"Really? I seem to remember an interesting two months between us, before I needed to leave."

"Before you _deserted _us, you mean?" Parvati smirked, and crossed her arms.

The blondes' eyes turned to deadly slits, glaring at the Indian girl. "I buried my Father."

"Then why didn't you find us afterwards?"

"Because it would have done no good! Harry, you were killing us! Striking blindly, foolishly, without a plan. I formulated one."

"And what would that be? Leading another army of children to their deaths?" Harry winced, remembering being a seventeen year old general. It wasn't pretty.

"Simple, sleek, secure. An assassination."

"Good luck. We could never find Voldemort at all. He moves too much."

"Ah, but I have friends. _Old_ friends. Who can find him."

"Then why is he still alive?"

"Because I was waiting, Harry. Waiting for you!"

Harry didn't bother answering that. Instead, he looked around them. Finally, he said, "Why did you kill Nikolai?"

"He was a good pawn, but he served his purpose."

Parvati said, "Wait, he was _your_ agent?"

"Yep. No Death Eaters did he betray you to, although I wouldn't call it betrayal so much as a change of hands."

"You make us sound like goods to be bartered."

"You are much more valuable than you think, Harry. But, first, I want to show you something." She gestured them to her singular window, letting the other two squeeze in besides her. She propped open one of the blinds, allowing a sliver of moonlight through. "Be very quiet, or else we could be seen." Then, all three of them looked out of the pale window.

At first, they saw nothing. Then, slowly, Harry came to realize that there was a figure out there, among the shadows of the midnight streets. It wasn't human.

Oh, yes, it still had human shaped, but it was simply _wrong_. Like it was _stretched_. The arms were too long, stretching down past the knees on its legs that seemed to stretch on for miles. Its head rested on a short neck- there was no face, or any discernible features besides its length, but he felt, on some primal level, _teeth_. Miles and miles of sharp, pointed, gnashing teeth. Looking at it, Harry felt a deep despair, much like the Dementors, except that, instead of hope being gone, it was merely obscured; it was there, he knew, but he couldn't remember it. There were more of them- it wasn't like they appeared, more like they weren't noticeable, like seeing one opened the floodgates. They were terrifying.

He pulled away from the window, not wanting to see anymore. After a minute, Parvati and Luna pulled away.

It was Parvati who spoke, "What are those things?"

Luna looked sadly at each of them. "They are Baleful- beings from the space between spaces. They steal away the sanity of their victims, stealing away their minds and emotions. They are cousins to the dementors- except that they can only appear when the Apocalypse is nigh. They were only seen on this plane twice before this- Once for Ragnarok, and once for the sinking of Atlantis. Each time, Humanity has come close to extinction, and only through the sheer force of luck did they survive and rebuild. The Baleful appear when the very forces of reality are strained. They come out of the cracks in our dimensions, following wherever war shall be. They are following you, Harry, trying to find you. They hunt you, they yearn for you. And they are getting more and more desperate. I first noticed them two months or so ago, when all the vagrants started an exodus from the city." Harry remembered that. The Muggle news had said that a serial killer was on the loose. "Recently, they've moved on from stalking the streets, because everyone knows not to go outside after midnight now. They've started breaking into houses, searching, killing. They want to find you, Harry. Frankly, I couldn't risk you being on your own anymore."

He sighed. "Always, something wants to kill me. Well, Luna, you said you had someone who could help?"

She smiled. "Come with me. I'll show you."


	5. all which isn't singing is mere talking

_She stumbled again, one hand going to rub her red face where the blow was struck, the other trying to find the ground beneath her, pushing herself unsteadily to her feet. Harry, for his part, looked at his raised hand. He wasn't sure if he had wanted to hit her that hard or hadn't. Either way, that was the first time he had ever hit a woman like that. He wasn't sure if he liked it or no. Well, only one thing to do._

_"You fucking cunt. What's wrong with you?" Ah, yes, that was why this had started. Ginny, again. For being dead, the girl certainly did cause a lot of violence. "You think I didn't love her? Fuck you, that's wrong. I don't love you." He had meant that to come out rather vehemently; instead it had come out in a dull monotone, rather like a sheep bleating._

_Luna was laughing. "You simply can't believe that, Lover. Otherwise, you wouldn't be with me."_

_Harry wanted to hit her again, but stayed his hand. "That's a lie."_

_"Only if you are lying to yourself, Lover."_

_He hated the fact that she was so much smarter than him. "Shut up. Ginny was ten times what you ever could be."_

_Luna's smile saddened a bit, although it never left her face, almost as if it were mocking him. "Only her memories could be that, Harry. What you think she was. In reality, she was only a girl, scared, flawed, and now dead."_

_"And what does that make you?"_

_She smiled her knowing smile at him, pulling him down onto the bed that they shared. "Alive."_

"Wait." They did- Parvati and Luna, pausing and turning to look at him. "You said you had an Army?" Luna nodded in confirmation. "Show me."

'There really isn't any time for this. We have to go, now."

"You'll make time. Now, where are they?"

"Harry, there isn't any-"

"Time, yes. So the less you speak, the more we'll have." He looked at her a moment, and then she smiled.

"You've grown, Mister Potter. Alright, follow me." She turned a quick right, down a hallway that he was sure hadn't been there before. She had grown too, it seemed. Parvati spared him an angry look- she didn't like Luna in the least, it seemed. He couldn't blame her, really. Himself, he hated her with a passion.

Luna led them along their winding way, laughing a little as they ran through long hallways and quick turns. Within a few minutes, they came to a single door, no doubt magically warded to some degree. Luna simply opened it, smiling at him. Inside was a plethora of sleeping children. Yes, children- the oldest couldn't have been more than seventeen, and the youngest of them thirteen. Scattered on the floor were their uniforms- exact replicas of the Hogwarts uniform that they knew once. He didn't need to see anymore, and stepped out of the room. Luna closed the door. "See?"

"Luna… Luna, you… I…"

"Yes, Harry?"

Parvati finished for him. "This won't win the war."

"Yes it will. Once they see the children dead, the rest will rise and fight against him."

Parvati was getting into a groove here; she wouldn't stop until she had said her piece. "And who are you to say what will work and what won't? Who the fuck are you to say that children need to die?"

"Children have already died."

"So why do more need to?" She crossed her arms in front of her, glaring at the strange blonde.

"Ah," said Luna airily. "Me up at does, I do spy a small mouse, still dying, looking at me with sad eyes, asking 'What have I done that you wouldn't have?'"

Parvati looked confusedly at her, but Harry smiled. "Cummings? Very nice. That's not how it goes, though."

"It gets the point across, Lover." She smiled back at him, and Harry remembered that they were supposed to be angry at her. "What else could I have done?"

"A lot, Luna. A whole fucking lot more." He shook his head. "But that's past, dead and done. You said you had a means of travel besides floo or flying?"

She smiled again, and he saw a bit of the old Luna he once knew. "I saw that you have a collection, Harry," she said, not answering the question.

"Yes, but that's besides the point, I think." He glared at her, feeling anger bubbling up within his chest.

"We still have some time before we can go, so why not? There's something I want to show you, Harry."

"We don't want to see it," said Parvati quickly.

"I didn't invite you," said Luna snidely. Parvati looked aghast for a moment, then placed her hand son her hips. Harry had seen her kill enough people to know that that was where her wand usually was.

Harry quickly imposed himself between the two ladies- not the best idea, true, but he didn't feel like digging more graves just yet. "Now, now. Parvati, we have time to kill. And, Luna, wherever I go, Parvati does as well." He held up his hands placatingly.

Luna wrapped her arms around his middle. "If you insist, my Love."

Without so much as a warning, Parvatis' hand lashed out, catching the blonde in a hard slap across the face. "Hands. Off. Now." Without a doubt, she was seeing red, and Harry couldn't blame her. They were all the other had, and seeing Luna like that wasn't for the best in her tortured psyche.

"Harry's a big boy. I can share him, if you like." Luna smiled slyly at her. "As it is, he's not the best lover I've had-" A low blow, to be sure- "Nor was he the biggest." Lower. "But he's worth it, I guess you've figured out."

Okay, that probably made the situation worse. "Shall we go see Lunas' collection?" At this point, he didn't care if it was a pile of shrunken heads, he just wanted for the two of them to break eye contact. It was creepy, and he honestly didn't know what would happen if an actual fight broke out. Parvati was meaner, but Luna was batshit crazier. If it didn't involve him personally, he might have sold tickets to the brawl.

Luna once again plastered on a demure smile, leading them away with her strange, lilting laughter. The labyrinthine corridors seem a bit narrower, their speed increasing from walking to jogging to running breakneck to keep up with the lithe blonde who's hair was all they could see, as long hallways gave way to short, sharp turns. Harry was beginning to think that the entire complex- that seemed to be contained within a single apartment building- was spelled so that it took longer to get to your desired destination. It wouldn't surprise him- if the correct wards were applied, an attacking enemy would take ten minutes getting from point A to point Boom, while a defender could do it in two. If his suspicions were correct, Luna had turned her home bases defenders into the muggle equivalent of "The Cavalry".

He took his lovers hand in his, and they put on a turn of speed that caught them up to Luna. Abruptly, the girl stopped before a blank wall, grinning at them for a moment before reaching through, making it shimmer as the glamour tried to coalesce around the foreign object. Within a moment, she pulled out a small bundle, which she poked at with her wand. She set it on the ground as it quickly came back to being a full sized trunk- they were forced to jump back as it expanded. Luna gave a grin, opening the heavy top, showing them the inside. Parvati gulped, and Harry merely frowned, sighing heavily.

Inside the trunk were wands- hundreds of them. Luna was almost beaming at him. "For ten years," she explained, "I have been collecting the wands of all the Death Eaters I have killed. All of them. There are nine hundred thirty seven wands in there. All for you, Harry. It was always for you." If there was any doubt before, there wasn't now- Luna was dangerously unhinged. Still, he couldn't help but be impressed. He wasn't sure if Parvati and himself could add up their kills to nine hundred or so over almost fifteen years of fighting Voldemort. Say what you would of Luna, but she was a tenacious fighter.

"You can keep them. Keep your fucking trophies." He closed the trunk, and it automatically shrunk back down to size. "I can't even believe this."

"But don't you do the same thing, Harry? I've seen your box, filled with our friends. I know what you do when she isn't watching." Her grin was still plastered on.

"That's different," he said quickly, looking at Parvati. "That's-"

"No it isn't," she hissed at him. "I just choose to remember different people. You grieve, I celebrate. It's all the same."

He didn't bother to correct her, seeing as the argument would get them nowhere. "Whatever. You said that you had a way out of this- yes? Bring us there now."

"It's not ready!"

"Then _make _it ready!" She crossed her arms and pouted at him- _Such a strange girl_- but then ambled off, no longer sprinting

_They bowed, exchanging quick pleasantries. Harry kissed her hand with a smile, and it was genuine. __Gabrielle__ Delacour was positively beaming at him, turning her eyes to the dozen or so others that were with him. The only Lady of the French chateau welcomed them in graciously, as any good Lady should. However, she was still only 15. She seemed happy to see Harry again- almost too happy, even, considering that her sister and brother-in-law had been killed only a few months before._

_"Gabrielle, it is wonderful to see you again." She curtseys towards him, and then greets the others- the sorry remnants of the English Rebel Army. The combined forces of the DA, the Ministry In Exile, and The Order of the Phoenix- reduced to seventeen members including himself._

_"Ah, but I am sure your friends are tired, as are both you and I. Even so, this may not be the safest place to idle- outside, that is, although I assure you that the wards are as strong as can be. Come, all of you, there is plenty of room inside." With a smile and a bow, she led the group inside._

_Indeed, this was maybe the one truly safe place on the continent that he could think of- France, at the moment, was a neutral party, although Harry knew that that could change in a moment. He was just glad that he had learned of the location of Château de Delacour from Fleur before she was killed. The festivities here seemed rather bleak, in retrospect- a little girl was trying desperately to play the part of a gracious host and woman, of which she knew precious little of both. Her sister was almost four months dead, and her mother almost two years gone by, now. Gabrielle brings out refreshments, awkwardly trying to strike up pleasant conversation with people who were more shell-shocked then chatty. After watching her talk towards Neville about the gardens in France for a few minutes- the man hadn't said more than a few dozen words that month, most of those pertaining to battle. Harry couldn't find the heart to scold her- after seeing his parents strung up like that when they attacked St. Mungos'… Yes, the boy needed to break out of his shell, or it would kill him slowly. Still, he took her aside. Quickly finding the quarter-Veelas eyes, he began, "Listen, Gabrielle, this isn't what we need. Food and drink, yes, a shoulder, yes, but not someone trying to make us think things are better than they are. What my people need are warm beds and safe slumber- not a hostess or anything like that. I'm sorry," he said quietly afterwards, seeing the hurt in her eyes. He took her into a quick hug, letting her bury her face into his shoulder. Harry guessed that he would always have a soft-spot for the pair of French women, Veela blood or no. He smiled as she pulled away. "C'mon, buck up. You're doing splendidly."_

_She smiled gratefully back at him. "Thank you, 'Arry," she whispered, some of her accent slipping through to her otherwise perfect English. "You are really zee best." Harry kissed her on top of her head- she was only some five foot five, in comparison to his taller stature. "I'll… I'll get on that, zen."_

_Later that night, just the two of them sat in the overlarge den of the place, although he couldn't help but think that it fit in well with the scale of it- fifteen bedrooms, for Godric's sake! She sipped her tea pensively, while Harry let his sit on the armoire next to his comfy chair. There was a comfortable silence between the two- or, at least, Harry thought it was comfortable. "Harry?"_

_He looked at the youngest Delacour. She seemed very small and scared in the chair that was meant for her mother- he realized that that meant that he was probably in her Fathers chair, then. "Yes?"_

_The French girl took another sip of her tea, eyeing Harry's untouched cup. "Could you... maybe… tell me about my sister?"_

_He was glad he hadn't been drinking- he might have sputtered. "She was very brave."_

_Gabrielle shook her head. "I know, I know. Brave, beautiful, perfect Fleur, darling of the French spotlight. Always so wonderful and unattainable, always so much more pretty, always-" She cut herself off, giving a small laugh before sipping at her tea. "I sound like a petulant child, don't I?" Harry didn't answer. "Forgive me- I loved my sister, but she has always eclipsed me, even in death. No, Harry, I have misled you. I want to know, specifically, about my sister and you, Monsieur Potter."_

_Harry looked sidelong at her, finally picking up his tea. It was cold when he drank it. "It's… complicated, Gabrielle."_

The blonde bucked beneath him, hair flowing behind her ever gracefully. He ran his hand down her side, watching her face as it danced between pleasure and pain as he ran over the still healing bruises there. Finishing its run, he gave her bum an appraising squeeze, before she jerked upwards and captured his lips in

_"I know," she replied. "Actually, I know many things, Harry Potter. That my sister was not always quite so faithful to her doting husband, yes? Also, that you two were, briefly, Lovers. Please, Harry- I had not seen her in almost a year when the news came. I was told that it would be too dangerous for a full funeral- her body was disposed of by you Englishmen. I shudder to think of what might have been done in their hands."_

"Oh, Harry, Harry," she moaned. "Harder, faster, please!" He picked up the pace, delighting in seeing the pleasure written across her stunning features. She wrapped her legs around his waist, greedily pulling his lips to hers, almost as if she was trying to steal every last bit of Harry Potter that she could get.

_He sighed. "I guess it can't be helped." He set his tea down, and noticed that hers was empty. All of the others were sleeping by now- some alone, some in the arms of friends and lovers. They two were the only ones still awake. "Yes, me and Fleur made love- once. Just after Bill died."_

"God, Fleur, I- fuck!" She shuddered against him, and he spilled himself into her immediately after. They held onto each other for a few minutes after, neither moving, just basking in the warmth, the comfort, the afterglow. It was all silence, until Harry realized that she was crying into his shoulder.

_"And I am to understand her and he died not two days after the other, non?" Her eyes looked accusingly at him, daring him to answer. This wasn't going to end well, he could already tell._

She didn't bother wiping her eyes at his questioning look, merely giving a week smile. "Non, Harry. Here I am, not a day after my husband has been killed, and I am fucking another man like some common whore. I never thought that I would sink that low." She pauses long enough to wipe her eyes. "It just seems wrong, but I guess that this is our lot in life, yes?" She laughs before she breaks into another bout of tears. Harry didn't say a word, knowing that everything she said was true.

_"Yes, she was killed the next day. She took a killing curse for me after she had killed six Death Eaters."_

_"Do you remember her last words?" Gabrielles' eyes were now intent on his, the former loathing replaced by a need, a want, a fear._

_"Yes," he said softly. "'If we were in some other life, some other when, then it would be you whom I was dying for. I always loved you, Harry.'" He took a deep, shuddering breath at the unwanted memories that cropped up into his mind. "Then, she blasted away another before diving in front of the curse that would have killed me." Another breath, and he was calmer. "I'm sorry."_

_"No, no, it is me who should apologize. I judged too quickly of an event that I could not fathom. Harry, what you and my sister had was special- and I am not just saying that. Fleur… Fleur was…"_

_"Wonderful, strange, amazing, terrifying," he supplied._

_She smiled. "Yes, all that and more. And to think, you are that same 'leetle boy' who fought her in the Tri-Wizard so many years ago. You are truly a gifted man, Harry Potter."_

_He smiled again, softer, quieter. "Thank you."_

_A troubled look crossed her face, and she wrung her pale hands together. "Harry? Do you think that I am… well, pretty?"_

_He looked at her. She had the charms and beauty of a woman twice her age, even without trying. When she fully matured, he knew that she would catch the eyes of many young Frenchmen, even without the Veela charms. "You are beautiful, Gabrielle. There is no doubt there." She looked gladly at him, but he could sense her trying to sense a lie there. She didn't, apparently._

_"Once again, and a thousand times more, thank you, Harry. I believe that I should show you to your room now, yes?"_

_"Wee wee," he said cheekily, and danced out of the way of her smack. With a laugh, she led him down the hallways towards his room. As she opened the door, he caught her in another hug, kissing her head again. "Goodnight," he said. He turned away from her, his vision filled only with the warmed bed before him. However, years of fighting had honed his senses, so that when he heard the soft thump of the robe hitting the floor, he had already spun, wand out. Before him, Gabrielle Delacour stood naked, holding her hands in front of her, and a look on her face telling him all he needed to know._

_She had no clue what she was doing. Just doing what she thinks she should. She's playing at being a woman, while it's painfully obvious that she isn't. Still, he knows that she will be a truly gorgeous woman- when she grows up. For now, she is just a girl. "You seem to have lost your garments," he said coolly._

_"I am of age, Harry. At least, to marry you, and such. I… I would make a good wife, I think."_

_"As I'm sure you would. But facts remain, I am fighting a bit of a war right now, never mind that we're losing. And the fact that I don't love you like that."_

_"You loved Fleur," she stated simply._

_"And Fleur you are not. What makes you so keen on thins, anyways?"_

_"My Father is the Minister of Magic in Gaul. He can protect you, me, all of them. If we were… to marry… then you would be safe, Harry."_

_"Do you think Voldemort would stop because I am married to the French Ministers daughter?" There is a rising ire in his voice, a fire in his eyes. He is glad to see that Gabrielle matches his eyes with hers._

_"No, but it would help. Britain is lost, Harry! There is no point in fighting for her now, not anymore. It's sad but true."_

_"You don't know," he said in a deathly quiet voice. "You're just-"_

_"What?" She crosses her arms over her naked chest. "Just some little girl? Just someone who is stupid and inexperienced? I know what you do, Harry, and it is stupid beyond reason!"_

_"You think you know my reasons? You think I fight for bloody England? I couldn't care less for that speck of dirt across the Channel!"_

_"Then why do you fight? Why bother?"_

_"For them!" He points to the wall where they knew that the other rebels were sleeping somewhat soundly. "And for them," he said softly, deathly still, clasping a hand over the tattered Hogwarts symbol that he still stubbornly wore. "Almost all of my friends, the people I call family, have been killed or worse. These people with me are all I have left. And the man who has done this is still out there. And he'll keep doing it until I kill him. That's fucking why I don't give up."_

_She looked properly chastised, and he noticed that her blush went almost down to her toes. "Again, I speak too soon. It seems that I am simply… a little girl…" She took a deep, shuddering breath, tears spilling out of her eyes like rain._

_He nodded. "Well… I guess that you see-"_

_"You need to leave," she interjected before he could finish. He sighed- it wasn't like it was the first time they needed to leave in a hurry. He had only hoped to give his friends a nights untroubled sleep, but Hell hath no Fury, yes? "No, not because of- this," she gestured at her discarded robes. "You do not know this, but- My Father, he is… in talks with… Him, yes. I am not sure how it goes. However, I know that he would use your location as a bargaining tool in a minute. Come morning, you and your friends should go. I have some acquaintances in Carpathia with no love of your Voldemort. They can help you."_

_"Why didn't you tell me this before?"_

_"Allow a misguided girl her dreams, mon cheri. Now, sleep. I shall keep an eye out, and wake you and yours come the morning._

_He was tired- exhausted, even. He merely nodded, and she quickly put on her robes. Sleep found him just as his head hit the pillow._

He looked at the door. Then, he looked at Luna, and then back at the door. The door was solid oak, stained with some type of liquid, and came to just below his waist. "Luna?

"Yes, Harry?"

"What am I looking at?"

"I thought that this would quite obviously be a _door_. Shall I put a sign on it for next time?"

"No, no, that isn't needed. But, Luna?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Was this door made for midgets? A great uprising of netherworld magical midgets?"

"No, Harry."

"Well, that's good. Who is it for, then?"

"People, Lover. Mismatched, yes, but most certainly people."

"And how would we get through this door?"

"I would suggest crouching or kneeling into a shorter position. You could even bend at the waist, if you care to."

"Ah. Luna?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What is behind this door?"

"It'd be best if I were to show you, I think."

"Wonderful! Parvati?"

The Indian had been standing off to the side, watching the exchange with an amused look on her face. "Yes, Harry?"

"Would you care to come along?"

"I don't see why not. Let's go see what Loony's been hiding." He took her arm in his, noting that Luna had opened the door, and that the interior was glowing slightly, a soft green. Luna's hair was already slipping in, and they hastened to follow the blonde.

Coming to the other side, they were witness to a sight rarely beheld by mortal eyes- before them, Faeries danced and cavorted, tending to patches of green and vibrant flowers, laughing as they watched the ponderous giants in their domain. Luna seemed to fit in here- she danced along with the Fey creatures, singing their songs and laughing along with them. She smiled- bright, large, happy- and motioned them onwards. They stayed on a set path- straying would probably lead them to certain doom, of course. Soon enough, they arrived at their destination- a great throne, made of thirteen trees of different breeds, all still living and bearing leaves. On the seat, seemingly at the center of everything, sat a tired looking creature, the horns of a deer poking out of its skull. Blood red robes were draped over it, and the face was at once seemingly akin to a man, a goat, and a dragon, if it was comparable to anything at all. From its long fingers came a staff similar to its throne- twisting limbs of many different species of trees.

Luna motioned for them to kneel before the creature. After a moment, it nodded at the three magicians, bringing the staff down to between its legs. Luna stood, and they followed suit. "Harry, Parvati, I would like to introduce you to the Queen of Fey."


	6. hate blows a bubble of despair

The great creature had its eyes closed, and was breathing heavily, like a huge weight was pressed against its chest. The androgynous being gave a shuddering cough, and beckoned at the blonde next to Harry. Luna smiled at the thing, and sidled up sweetly towards it.

Harry gave the place a look around- at first, he wanted to call the place infinite, but then he realized the horizon had a blank look to it, like the world simply stopped just out of his eyeline. Parvati elbowed him sharply; Luna was conversing quietly with the thing next to her. Lovegood turned to them, smiling sadly. "Harry, Parvati, I have wonderful news; The Queen of Fey is dying. I expect that she won't last long, now."

"And how is this a good thing?" Asked the Indian girl.

"Because," explained Luna patiently, "what you see before you is the Well-Spring of Magic."

Parvati gasped quietly, and eyed the creature with a new level of deference, while Harry merely looked confused. "It's an old legend," she explained quietly to him. "That some benign creature gave magic to humanity some many thousands of years ago, and all magic still comes from that. If this… thing is indeed, dying, then magic itself should be extinguished when it does." Parvati straightened. "How can we help?" The question was directed to the semi-conscious Queen, not Luna.

"You can't," said Luna quickly. "Her ills are not physical, as technically this place doesn't even exist. It's the magic itself that is sick; corrupted, as it were."

"Voldemort," spat Harry.

"No," said Luna quietly. "Everyone. Entire nations turned to Dark, Evil magics, the Dark Lord, you, me, everyone, Harry. _We _killed magic, with our hate and greed and lust for power. Every single magic user." Besides her, the crowned creature gave another shuddering cough, thick, sap-like blood coming from its mouth. "This place," she continued after a moment, "Is also connected to the magics, and the belief in the Fey that so few now hold. I remember, when I first found this place almost two decades past, that it stretched on for miles and miles and miles, right to the edge of infinity. A hundred years past, it was even bigger. Now, it is merely a shadow. The Fey- what's left of them- bless them, but they don't even realize what's gone wrong. They can't remember anymore- as this world slips away, so does their long memories. Now, they're little better then their primal cousins, like the fairies and the doxies. Merlin, Harry, do you see the gray? That is the first step- in a few hours, that piece of gray will off into nothing. Beneath us, oblivion."

Harry looked closer into screaming landscape, noticing the stark, lifeless flowers that dotted it. They still were in bloom, forever encapsulated in their pristine condition. Fey bodies dotted the landscape, some peaceful in sleep, other with expressions of terror, in mid-stride to escape their fate. It was horrifying, this still capture of life. Abruptly, a large chunk of the gray landscape cracked and fell; leaving behind sheen of dust floating lazily where it had once lain. Harry moved his eyes away. There was a ring of gray around them, all around, like a great sea of dun abreast of an isle of color and vibrancy. He shivered. "So," he said to Luna, "soon enough, Voldemort will be powerless?"

Luna merely nodded, running her hand soothingly along the arm of the Fey Queen.

"So, that's it?" Parvati looked between Harry and Luna. "We won? War's over, nobody can use magic inside of a week. We can go… well, not home, but, somewhere, yes?"

"No," said Harry quietly.

"Harry," began Parvati again, "there's no bloody point! We-"

"Of _course_ there's a BLOODY POINT!" He shook his fist in infantile, impotent rage. "The bodies we left behind are the _fucking point_, Patil. You think we can let it lie? Let Riddle keep on when he's done so much wrong? I refuse. I will kill that man, with my own two hands. I'll bludgeon him to death with a rock, if I must. But _I will not let him live_. Magic is but the tool I will use to further my ends. You said we have a week?"

"Give or take a few hours, yes," said Luna. "But, Harry, we can't do this, just the three of us. We need an army."

"We are _not _using an army of school children, Luna," he shot back coolly. The Fey continued to dance around in their melodious display, oblivious to the creeping death that was around the corner.

"I realize," she said drolly. "I have another place in mind. The Halls of the Einherjar."

"Now I know you're full of it," stated Parvati. "Harry, the bint's daft, just look at her! C'mon, let's just lay low for a little, until this dies down. Hell, maybe she's lying about it all, and just wants to scare us."

"I don't appreciate the defamation of my character, Patil."

"If only you had one. Let's-"

"**Enough!"** They all three of them turned as one, to gaze on the slowly moving form of the Queen of Fey. The shout had sent their ears ringing, and the Fey creatures around them danced with much more vigor, if that was possible. "**Enough, children,"** she said more quietly. **"Please, peace. Let nothing stop you. She speaks true to you, youngling. Indeed, there is a place where the great warriors of time do gather- the one next to you can lead the way, unless the magic there is dying as well. But, time is of the essence. I will give you access there, Children. Lead them well, scarred child. And, remember; time is of the essence. Now… **_**GO**_**!"** On the last word, a portal opened besides them, and it only took a moment before a dazed looking Harry pushed Parvati through, followed by himself. Luna left last, bowing low to the mighty Queen, before jumping deftly through. The Queen of Fey closed the portal, before collapsing backwards onto its throne, heavy lids closing as it pawed weakly at its staff of ever-living wood. **"Goodbye, young one."** The gray crept closer.

_She was laughing, dancing in the tall wheat and the grass, singing a song with no words that he could tell. Her hair twirled every which way, and she laughed as he struggled to keep up with her deft footfalls. "Wait up, yeah?" She shook her head, no, and danced all the faster._

_He smiled widely, and dove at her. She screamed lightly, banging on his arms and shoulders as he brought them both down into the grass, landing with a small _thump_ on the soft ground. They were laughing, rolling in the grass, and her hair was pooled around her like a halo. He shook his head, still grinning. "You're beautiful, you know that?"_

_She smiled like the waxing moon. "I had an idea, but it would help if you were to say it again, Mister Potter. Positive reinforcement, and all that."_

_His grin grew even wider, threatening to engulf him. "You, Madame, are beautiful in every way imaginable. An angel upon the earth, even."_

_"How eloquent of you," she said primly, before bursting into a fit of giggles._

_"I'd hope so. I've been practicing." She laughed even harder, smacking his arms lightly._

_"You hopeless git," she laughed, wiping away the tears of laughter from her eyes._

_"At your service," he said, striking a dashing pose (to him, at least), before she took advantage and rolled, placing him below her. She kissed him softly, and he ran his fingers through her hair, and then along her cheek._

_"You know I love you, yeah?"_

_"As do I, Gin. As do I." Red hair fell around him like a waterfall._

The wooden gate was impressive- easily the height of a giant and then some, if Harry assumed correctly. A man stood on top of it in a small tower, holding a quiver of arrows out, and a bow in his other hand. "Halt, strangers! What brings ye to the lands of the Ever-Living?" He was dressed in finery, but besides that, they couldn't see much of him; he was too far up.

"We come to the Halls of the Einherjar for help in a great battle," supplied Luna helpfully.

"Only the chosen few may enter. Where is your mark, stranger?"

Harry shouted upwards, "Here!" And he released Oathbreaker, the chain snaking down his arm until it hung loosely at his side. "I am Harry, and I seek entrance to this place! These two are my companions, and I insist they be let in."

"And I am Aesirfurth, guard of the gate. Do you know what you carry, little one?"

"A great curse," whispered Luna.

"A great weapon," said Harry. "I know of this place, and I must enter, for the sake of us all!"

"Fair enough, little one, but the other two may not come in. The Hall will reject them, but they will not be harmed outside the gates. Come in, Brother."

The wooden gate, scored with the marks of age and battle, swung open with a mighty creak, and Harry was in before the other two could even remark on it. Luna sighed.

"Stupid boy. Even he had more than enough reason not to take it."

"Take what, Lovegood?" Her interest was piqued.

"That _thing _in his arm. It's a cursed blade. There are only a couple of hundred, at best, and that's before they started to be hunted down. When someone takes one, it attaches to them in the worst possible way. It whispers for blood in his mind, makes him a monster. It steals your soul for payment, and steals whatever it can from anyone. You can't die unless one of two things happens."

"What?"

"Someone else with a cursed blade kills you, or the Baleful get to you. They sense you, deep inside you, because you've become like _them_- empty, a husk. Harry's a greater man then I had first thought, going on with that burden."

"He knew about it," intuited Parvati.

"He knew when first he touched it. It gave him a choice. And he took it. Harry Potter sold his soul for the chance to avenge us all.

"Stupid boy," agreed Parvati.

"Why have you called us here, boy?" There some three dozen inside the too big hall, standing around Harry Potter, weapons staring icily at the boy. The speaker was a burly Greek named Ajax .

"Aye, what brings ye here, Laddie?" The red haired man bore a large broadsword across his back.

"I come to bring you to war," said Harry.

"And what is so different than all the others, child?" This time, a hulking brute of a man with a beard down to his knees, bearing a great axe.

"Magic is dying. Surely you have felt it weakening?."

"We have. And we accept it. We have lived for many millennia, boy. Dying is just another step. Oblivion has called us for many years, and I for one shall answer it as I answer any challenge- with a battle cry in my throat, and a slain enemy at my feet." This, from a soft-spoken man, his face wrinkled beyond his many years, a spear resting lightly at his side. "Alas, that there are no more mighty enemies."

Another man came up through the crowd, and he hefted his massive hammer with ease. He dwarfed everyone in the room by a good head or even more, and a bear skin hung loosely from his shoulders. "What is your name, child?"

"Harry Potter, Liege," he said meekly. He could sense that this one was a leader of sorts here, if one could lead a group of bloodthirsty maniacs beyond pointing and getting out of the way.

"I am Thor, Son of Odin, the last survivor of Ragnarok. I see your weapon, Harry, and it saddens me. But explain, if you would, your reasons for coming here."

"Yes, Liege ." He shook his head to clear it; there was a whisper in his mind, a cold, serpentine voice. He gripped Oathbreaker tighter, the golden chain waving ever so slightly on its own. "I come here directly from the Queen of Fey- she sent me and my friends here, so we could request your help. You see, Liege , there is a war on Earth, a war of proportions so massive that it is killing the very magic that we rely on. My enemy, calling himself Lord Voldemort, has conquered many lands, and turned their populations to his needs. He spreads dark magics like a seed, and reality itself is strained. I intend to kill him with my own two hands, if need be, and I know that we all will die by this time next week. So, I seek one last hurrah, one final, glorious battle. To kill until the ground flows red, until it is stained down to its very essence, until there are no more enemies to cut down, and the screams and the lamentation of their women are the sweet music we dine on unto oblivion!" He stopped, panting, his hackles raised and his body heaving with each spasm of his muscles, his hands twitching and closing, like the thousands of necks he would snap in order to get to the treacherous Riddle.

Someone in the back coughed, and the assembled eyed him warily. The old man with the spear spoke, "How long have you had that weapon, boy?"

"A few years, now."

Ajax turned to Thor. "He's slipping, my King. Into the path of Achilles and a thousand more. He'll lose himself to battle."

"Then let it come," interjected Harry. "I die in seven days, best to leave my sworn enemy dead with me, yes? And what of you all?"

"Do you know the weapon which you carry?" Thors' hammer swung in a lazy arc in his immense hand, his wrist larger than Harry's forearm. "It's history, Lad?"

"No, but I don't see the import of that."

Thor sighed, his free hand through his shaggy, plaited beard. "Harry, lad, Oathbreaker, your weapon… it was the weapon of Loki, my brother. It drove him to madness, and, in turn, caused him to bring about the near destruction of humanity. It whispered to him, made him a monster. He united the giants and the wolves and the darkness together, and there were none to stop him. In the end, the rest of the Aesir; me, Odin, Baldur, and more then I care to remember; came to him, and struck down his army. I myself slew the Basilisk Jormungander, though it nearly killed me. I made it nine steps before I collapsed, and when I awoke, a week had passed. Loki, and the giants, and the wolves, and the Aesir… all slaughtered. I am the last of the old gods, as you knew us." He shook his head, beard swaying in counter-point to the motion. "The beasts upon your world now are but an echo to the mighty things we slew in the ages past."

"I am not your brother. And this is not your time, but mine. I come to ask for help from the only ones who can know my plight. Will you stand with me as men? Or as cowards, stay here, to die slowly, terrified? Will you not _stand_, as MEN?"

"I have seen enough war, boy," said the tall Greek, Ajax. "For a hundred centuries, I have sought to atone for what I've done on those lost fields. I shall continue to do so."

"I led my people in glorious war across the isles; I seek no more blood."

The grizzled old man spoke again, "Laddie, I don't know your world, nor do I care to find out. I shall live my last days among friends, in relative comfort."

Harry's' eyes widened in unkempt rage. "Will none of you see this last battle? Will you not feel the enemies of man bleeding and begging and dying for their sins? Will you not see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women?"

"You stole that from someone else," muttered Ajax.

"Bugger off," whispered back Harry. Louder, to the rest of the assembled, "Well?"

After a moment of silence, a man stepped forward. "No, I shall not."

"Nor I," intoned another.

"Or I."

"No."

"I shall remain."

Two dozen or so more variations of that damn two letter word again, and Harry was quietly seething. "Cowards, all of you!"

"No, Harry," said Thor. "We are simply tired. The weakening of magic has… loosened us, from this world. In time, like the Queen, we shall but fade away. So will you."

"Only when I'm done," he intoned menacingly. Thor merely sighed.

"Well, if you are so intent… there are the Wolves, again. They are like us… but, I doubt they wish to fade away so quietly. Their leader… well, I was not the only survivor of Loki's treachery. His name is Fenrir, King of the Warg. Seek them in Sweden, upon the highest mount."

"Thank you, Liege," spat Harry venomously. He turned and stomped from the hall.

_She danced through the battle-scarred land, twirling and laughing, her hair following her in a corona of light, a thousand different strands going this way and that, circling and twirling about her like a circus of sunlight. She her hands along the broken pipes that stuck out at odd angles from the broken ground. She hopped gracefully from one hole blasted into the ground to the next._

_He gazed longingly after her, before jumping to the chase. "It's dangerous out here, you know!" His shout echoed throughout the broken landscape fitfully, his own voice inverting and mocking him, 'You know, you know!'. _

_"If I get a boo-boo, will you kiss it better, Harry?" And she laughed, as clear as a bell, and started singing some tune that he knew from long ago and far away._

_"Maybe," he said, eyes looking past her._

_"If I'm very good, or very, very _bad_, Harry?" _

_"Either," he muttered absentmindedly. He shook his head. "What?"_

_She giggled, but her eyes had lost their mirth. "My, my, Mister Potter; far away, are we?"_

_"Just a bit," he conceded._

_She came up to him, a small smile on her face. "In that case, dance with me, Lover. Dance until the moon dies," and she pointed to the waning orb high in the sky, engorged until it looked ready to burst. She took his hand, and tugged him closer, and led him through the dance, and the movement of her feet, and the heaving of her chest, and how her blonde hair twirled with her, like a halo of sunlight under the dying moonlight. "I love you, Harry Potter," she whispered to him._

_He couldn't find it in him to answer._

The mountain side was cold, the wind howling against the sheer rock face, making their campfire billow dangerously. Parvati struggled to meld even more closely into the brooding Potters side, and Luna sat across from them, across the fire-pit that separated them. They had tried to conjure some sort of tent, or even a skein to keep out the wind, but something about the mountain was blocking their magic. In fact, they could only reach the very bottom the mountain by magical means, and it had taken them at least three days to scale the mountain to this point. Thankfully, the top was in sight, and they would reach it on the morrow.

They were silent, only the mournful howl of the wind relieving the silence. Luna stared into the fire, but sometimes, her gaze would go to the two lovers. Harry was different, these past few days. Not that he wasn't _already_ a sociopathic maniac, but he seemed a bit worse. Colder.

Snakelike, even.

Their clothes did nothing to keep out the cold, even though Luna and Parvati had stocked up on heavy coats and other such trivialities, and the fire was quickly being burned to embers. Parvati once again tried to transfigure a rock into a tent, to ill effect. "It won't work," said Luna.

"I still have hope," she shot back.

"Fuck are you doing here, then?" They both looked at Harry, the Indian with a look akin to betrayal, and the blonde with a small smile.

"I'm here for you, Lover," said Parvati after a moment.

"Same," said Luna mirthfully. Parvati spared her a small glare, before trying to bring herself closer to Harry. "Aren't you cold, Harry? At least we two have heavy coats. You, however, are in next to nothing."

"No," he answered simply. "Aren't you?"

"Freezing," she admitted.

He didn't smile at her predicament, much to her surprise. "It's warmer over here."

"Is that an invitation?"

"No," said the Patil venomously.

"Maybe," countered Harry. Luna smiled, and didn't need a second reason. She extricated herself from her previous position, and practically dove into his unoccupied side. He was wrong, though; this side wasn't any warmer than hers had been. He was, however. He radiated a fell heat, like there was a fault line filled with magma within him, ready to burst open at the slightest touch, the next juncture.

Within time, Parvati had fallen to a fitful sleep, greedily trying to meld even closer into his right side. Luna gazed upon him for a while, before finally speaking. "You know, don't you?"

"What?" His voice held an easy, contemptuous edge.

"Magic, and its dying, and you. And everything, of course."

"Of course."

"Harry… it'll all be gone. The centaurs. The giants. Unicorns, Dragons, Hinkypunks, Red Caps, Kappas, werewolves… they're dead, without magic. A strictly magical being cannot exist in a non-magical world. They'll fade away."

"Like me," he supplied. "We all float down here, Luna." And he laughed, a hollow, barking sound. "Can the Baleful reach us here?"

"No," and she shook her head as she said it. "They stick to the highest concentration of humans. We're not a large enough group to merit them looking."

"Good," he said. "Luna… you know that we're not surviving this?"

And she smiled. "One last Hogwarts Hurrah?"

And he laughed again, and it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. "Indeed, indeed." And he smiled widely, and the world seemed right again, if just for a scant moment. "Go to sleep, Luna. I'll make sure you're alive in the morning." And he kissed her forehead gently as she too snuggled into his side, greedily taking in his warmth.

"I'll always love you, Harry," she said sleepily.

The moon was full, and, in the distance, a wolf howled its high, keening dirge to the night sky. And Harry Potter still couldn't find it within him to answer her.


	7. i carry your heart with me

"You are Harry Potter," said the man before them.

"I am. And you are Fenrir, firstborn of the werewolves. King under the mountains. A God, some say." Harry pulled a wry face; he'd had quite enough with so-called "Living Gods".

The Wolf-King chuckled from atop his throne, made from the bones of countless dead men and beasts. "Some have said, and I have not discouraged the rumors. But, you and I, Harry Potter, we are not so dissimilar." He spoke in clipped, precise English, unaccented but for its stiffness.

Fenrir was an old man, born to the wild many millennia past. His skin was weather-beaten, yet sallow from sitting in deep contemplation within his underground kingdom for countless years. His ears were torn and ragged from many battles and fights for dominance- the left had a string of earrings made from teeth, and the right was missing a good chunk towards the top. His hair was a deep, regal grey color. He was dressed in the hides of many animals.

"No," he agreed, "we are not." Harry took a step forward, gazing into th old, tired eyes of the first werewolf. Around them, men and beasts lounged in their hundreds and thousands, some sleeping, some playing, fucking, or gazing at the conversation with vested interest. Men, woman, children, man and beast intertwined. Bones and steel weaponry littered the floor. "I guess you know why I am here."

A feral grin. "Yes, I do. You wish for my kin to spill their blood on your mad quest-"

_"Ron, Ron, c'mon! We gotta go! Let the others handle it!"_

_"Enough fucking running! You go, Harry; finish this! We'll buy you the time, start the ritual!"_

_Screams and curses flew around them in a vortex. McGonagall finished off a Death Eater with a flourish, sending his remains skittering across the Great Hall. "It's all on you, Harry! We will hold them here!"_

_He was screaming, "Ron, Ron! Prof-"_

"-for vengeance against your great foe. A foe so great that he is causing the death of magic itself. A foe so great that he has been called the most powerful magician since Mryydin himself. Am I not far off?"

"The only thing missing is an answer." Harry smiled a devilish, horrible grin, a rictus construct wearied with years and bodies.

"If I am to die, Harry Potter," started the wizened old man. "... If I, and my kin... to die, for you, Harry Potter, to speak our last words bedecked in war, to howl our last into the madness, to answer the world with a last, final, uncaring hurrah... Yes, Harry Potter, I would. I would lead my family to their doom for you, Harry Potter. I will cast off the shackles of novelty and ignanimity and the unknown, to face fire and fear and cold, harsh steel... For you, Harry Potter, I will die." He stood, tall and proud, visage flickering in the torchlight.

"Wonderful. We have little time. Our lives end in two days."

"We will be ready, Harry Potter. We shall taste their flesh, in this new Ragnarok. I can only pray that I have chosen the right side this time." Around them, there was a slow drumming, as a thousand men and wolves started to beat their feet into the hard rock. With each word, they picked up their pace, increasing the speed and strength with which they hit the mountains innards, unleashing a cacophony of noise like the pounding of a thousand drums.

Harry Potter laughed like a maniac, chest heaving and eyes tearing, his lovers staring at him from the sides, one fearfully, the other complacently.

All he could hear in the raucous sounds were _Doom-Doom-Doom-Doom._

The wolves howled back, still drumming, and the humans laughed as well, feet stamping the ground until their heels cracked and bled into the rocks. Fenrir howled his battle cry, and the mountain shook around them.

_The first time Harry Potter used the killing Curse was on his oldest friend._

_They had snatched him earlier in the war- six months ago, maybe. There was blood on the ground where he had last been- blood that wasn't his, for what it was worth. Six months later, Harry Potter found Rubeus Hagrid._

_"Well, 'ow are ye, 'Arry, m'boy?" He smiled weakly, showing gaps in his teeth where he had been abused. _

_They were deep underground, somewhere under Ireland. Easy mission, in and out. Infiltrate, gain information, leave. Of course, the Death Eaters knew of this long beforehand. He lost three good friends, good fighters. Seven Death Eaters dead, another four injured. Even now, Neville and Seamus kept a watch at the doorway, their wands pointed down the narrow hallway._

_"Been better, Hagrid. And you? You seem like you've seen better weeks."_

_"Months, lad, months. But Ah ne'er broke, I di'nt, aye. Ne'er spoke a word to the bastards," he mumbled through split lips and broken teeth. Blood pooled on the floor around him._

_But, stiff upper lip, and all that. "Let's get you out of these chains, aye?" They held him up from the wall, high above his head._

_"Nay, lad, pain from 'em is th' only thing keepin' me awake, aye."_

_"All the more reason-"_

_"Sleep means death, Harry. I'm sorry, lad, but ye'll nay move me from this spot, not without me falling into lil' raggedy bits."_

_"Fuck that, we're getting you home, Hagrid."_

_"Home?" He laughed bitterly, and then spat out a tooth and a mouthful of blood on the floor by Harrys' feet. "Home was a little hut by a big castle for me, laddie. Home was a steaming black kettle and a big, friendly mutt." He cast a shuddering breath. "Ah've nay home, Harry. No more, at least. OI watched them burn it down, aye."_

_"Make a fucking new one!" He flinched as he heard a crash behind him._

_Behind him, curses started flying. Seamus called out, "45 seconds before they close us in, Harry! Make it fast!"_

_"C'mon, help me here, Hagrid!"_

_"I'm done, lad, leave me be."_

_"I'm not leaving you to be tortured again!" He started tugging at the magically bound chains furiously, tears streaming down his face._

_"Ah ne'er said nothing... about being alive, laddie..."_

_"30 Seconds!"_

_"Fuck no!" He kicked the chains at his feet, and cursed at how hard they were._

_"I'm nay leaving, lad. Please, for me."_

_"You're my first fucking friend!"_

_"15 Seconds! Hurry the fuck up!"_

_Hagrid sighed deeply. "For an old friend, Harry."_

_Harry stopped struggling, and a fireball crashed through the doorway._

_"FUCK!" He took a deep breath, wand coming out. "I love you, Hagrid."_

_"I'll say 'Hullo' to every'un upstairs, aye?"_

_"Avada Kedavra." Green light washed over the room._

It was a misty day.

There was the _tromp, tromp, tromp_ of a thousand pairs of feet hitting the loamy Scotish ground. Parvati stood next to him. "I can't do this, Harry," she intoned softly. It had taken them almost the entire day after to move everyone to Scotland, but they were here, and they hadn't all dropped dead yet, so that was good. They only had a rough estimate as to when The Queen would die, but it wasn't good enough in any case.

"I'm not asking you to."

"He'll be dead by tomorrow, anyway!"

"I know."

She placed her hands on his shoulders, looking up into his green, haunted eyes. "You're going to kill all of them, you know, Harry."

"We're all dead, Par. Just don't realize it yet."

She slapped him for that. "Don't make me die here, Harry."

He regarded her for a moment. They had stuck together for the better part of a decade or more, shared their food, drink, and bodies to the utmost. They had fought together, killed together, and watched their friends and loved ones all die, one by one. They had traveled the world, seen strange places, and they had jumped off of the edge of the world together. They were ready to die for each other at a moments notice; had been each others constant, unfailing, unflappable companion since the start. He was pretty sure that he loved her. "Go home, Par," he said, oh so softly.

She glared at him. "I've no home anymore, Harry. You watched it burn down."

"Then go make one, Par," he said, more harshly. "Go live your life without revenge."

"What is revenge?" Her cry echoed around the wet grounds, coming back upon them in a mocking.

"Nothing... Everything. I don't know. But it's all I have left." He shrugged, and looked at her sidelong. "Why are you still here, Patil?"

"I... I..."

"Lead, follow, or get out of the way," said Luna cheerily as she sidled up to Harry. She grasped at his hand, and he limply allowed her to take it. She beamed happily, war paint blemishing her face, woad shining in the early morning light coming in through the mist, the blue whorls and swirls and triskelions a marked difference to her fair, pale skin. "Which to do, Parvati, which to do?"

"I love you, Harry Potter," she said softly. Then, she turned on her heel and apparated away with a _crack_. He knew he would never see her again.

"We're ready for you, Harry," said Luna softly."

"Alright." He turned from her, going back towards the grinning mob of a thousand or more werewolves- some as men, bedecked in war paint and armor and cruel steel weapons; others as wolves, true wolves, snarling their approval to the skies. They were the Sons of the Mountains, Fenrirs Kin, and they were not held back by the tides of the moon or stars, such was their power. And they were ready to die at his beck and call.

"_I_ still love you, Harry Potter," said Luna to his retreating back.

He stopped, hand dangling over his holstered wand. "Luna, I've never been more sure of anything in my life... when I say that I believe you. Conversely... I believe just as hard that I despise you, and everything you've done and stand for. I still hate you, Luna Lovegood. I doubt that will ever change."

"Never is a long, long time, Harry," she said in a small voice. I don't think you realize just how long it really is. Forever, I mean."

"Too short for me, Luna. Much too short." He began walking again, then stopped and turned back to her, eyes roaming past her, towards the place he hadn't been for a decade. Hogwarts. "Are you coming, or not?" He looked at his watch, then back to her. "Two hours until the End of the World."

Far away, in the space between spaces, the Queen of Fey gazed forlornly at its kingdom.

No longer did the Lesser Fey cavort and frolic in green fields laced with rose and honeysuckle; no longer did the flower seeds blow in the wind past the trees. It had disappeared, their bodies twisted and grey, lost to the eternity that now stretched and crumbled around the Queen.

It heaved a great sigh, feeling death stealing towards it at His own horrible pace.

It closed its eyes, heaving one last great, mighty breath.

A long dirge escaped its lips, shaking all of the in-between, the grey crumbling and cracking and breaking an falling. A great arm, clutching a staff made of the wood from different trees was raised in Its gnarled hand, and then the hand opened, and the staff clattered to the ground.

"This, my children, is our day of dying!" Fenrir shouted outwards to the howling masses of his warriors. "But not yet, no! For, though oblivion awaits us, though the cold grasp of Death grips at our hearts, will we falter?"

"_**NO!"**_ Came back the reply, resounding around and shaking the very Earth, as if the world itself quailed under the might, under the sheer, unadulterated hatred that they eschewed for their fate.

"Damn right! We will send them, screaming into Hell before us, to meet their Gods! And then, we shall go to Hell and kill them again!" He paused, gazing at his warriors, bedecked in furs and tattoos and light armors, wicked steel gleaming in the dewy morn. "What is the price of Victory?"

"_**The Blood of Our Foes!"**_

"What, my children, is the price of Defeat?"

"_**The Blood of our Kin!"**_

"Will we falter?"

"_**NEVER!"**_

"Will we fall?"

"_**FOREVER!"**_

"Then why do we stay here? Come, let them taste steel! Kill them, kill them all!"

And then they were off, pounding the earth with thousands of pairs of feet, howling war cries to their dead Gods to the sky and the mighty castle that loomed before them. Harry was right there beside them, Oathbreaker swinging in a wide arc as he ran headlong into his doom.

The wards of Hogwarts welcomed its children, so few as they were- they had stood since time immemorial, and no amount of tampering could stop her forever. But, as alarms went off, she must also open herself up to the cancerous masses; the Death Eaters and their slaves that apparated in as soon as they felt the attack on their master; they could only apparate in at the designated area, just outside the still open gate.

The two sides met with a dull thud, screaming barbarians cutting into the flesh of the Englishmen, the fighting too close even for their short wands to be effective. A hundred were slaughtered in seconds. And just like that, Harry was through, both Luna and Fenrir beside him, Oathbreaker already slick with blood.

"Go, go!" Fenrir motioned with his offhand towards the gate, his other cleaving an enemy in two with his old blade. Like a shot, Harry and Luna were through the gate, into Hogwarts for the first time in ten years.

There were only so many Death Eaters inside Hogwarts herself- Harry sent a curse at one with her back turned, and Luna outright killed one with the Killing Curse. He let loose Foeseeker, the silver spear exploding out of his left arm in a painful shower of viscera that healed itself instantly; it found its mark in some ones middle, and he screamed in pain as it went in, and when he pulled it out. Harry left him writhing on the floor.

Little time, or none at all. They fought through two dozen of the bastards, but already an hour had passed- an hour, if that, until the world of magic dies. He heaved a deep breath, and looked at Luna. She nodded, and cocked her head. "I didn't know you had two such... unnatural implements, Harry." She pointed to Foeseeker, the spear dripping an obscene amount of blood, held loosely in his left hand.

"This old thing? Picked it up in Leningrad."

"It will only accept an offer so great, Harry, that a man only has but one to give. You are a strange man, Harry Potter; a strange man, indeed."

"Then you would be interested in knowing that I bear three."

Her eyes, if possible, grew wider. "Who are you to offer three souls, where a man has but one?"

He pointed to his scar, and grinned; a feral, bloodthirsty thing. "I just had more to give, then. Tom gave me a part of his, and I am glad to be rid of it. And..." He looked down, realizing that he was standing in some ones entrails. He moved to the left, and looked around briefly. Bodies, strewn about the Great Hall. Seconds ticked by, and the din of battle raged as more and more Death Eaters apparated in to defend their leader. Flames flickered merrily, capturing the screams of the dying in their greedy, fuel laced hunger. "I suppose I owe you this tidbit; when my mother died to save me... it activated blood protections on me. Protection that required her soul itself to work. My mother never died, Luna. She was a sacrifice. She gave her soul to save me, and I gave her soul to save the rest of us."

There were tears in her eyes. "You are a far greater man then you've any right to be, Harry. You..." She paused, and in that instant, Hell came bursting into Hogwarts. The fighting from outside came crashing through, wolves and men and death eaters crying out in pain, fear, and anger. At the same time, dozens more enemies burst out from the stairwells, howling, slinging curses into the milling ranks of the embattled adversaries. "Go! Finish this!" She pushed him towards the opposite side, and then grabbed his arm and pulled him back to her. "Wait!"

She pulled his head roughly downwards towards hers, and she pushed her lips to his, capturing them in a rough, needful kiss. She poured all of her frustration, all of her pain, want, need into that one, single moment. After the longest five seconds of her laughably short life, they pulled apart. "Goddamn, Harry," she murmured, and then pulled him back in for another go. After that kiss, which had just as much emotion locked behind it, after the outpouring was done, she pushed him away, and he stumbled, only to catch himself a moment later. "Go, kill him! We'll keep them here! Find me when it's done!" And then he was away, running, eyes tearing up for reasons he daren't fathom. He left behind screaming.

"Let me through!" He was panting, standing outside the place he simply _knew_ that Voldemort would be. It was all coming down to this; a decade of running, hiding, and fighting was down to this one moment. When the gargoyle merely gazed demurely at him, he blasted it into little pieces. Another, and he was in the hallway. He walked up the stairs.

Inside, the office was much changed- instead of the carefree ecclecticness of Dumbledore, it was a dark place, filled only with a large chair facing away from the entrance, a desk, a mirror off to the side, and various small objects on the desk. No more portraits, no more Phoenix, no more school.

"Hello, Harry Potter," said Tom Riddle.

_The Queen of Fey gazed into nothingness. Around it, the World of Magic crumbled, pieces falling into oblivion at a sickening pace. The Queen sat alone in the center, all of Its subjects... Its family, dead, gone. Forever._

_"__**Lu…na…"**__ It muttered, and the word fell from cracked, graying lips like a prayer._

_For one last time, the eyes closed, and the Grey flooded in, and Magic was no more._

"You and I, Harry Potter, we're not so different, are we? Murderers, magicians, monsters, soulless. I stand upon the precipice of victory, Harry. And I know the Prophecy. _Neither can Live while the Other Survives."_ He laughed, a cold sound, and then he coughed, hacking and wheezing violently. "In effect, Harry, this makes us immortal, no? So, I have a proposition for you. Now, I am not so cliché as to ask you to join me- no, too much bad blood has passed between us. I see now that you, Harry, are my method to immortality, and I yours. So I ask you, Harry Potter, to leave here. Take your friends and lovers, and leave England. I will let you be, you leave me to my own devices. A simple ending to a complex relationship. We will live our lives, Harry, without the other. Who says that we must live as fate says? A mystic ball dictating what two such mighty men will do? Preposterous. A fallacy. We can do great things, Harry, and we will be immortal! To live forever, to do as we please, all eternity is open to us! What say you, Harry Potter?"

There was a clang and a crash as a sword and a spear fell to the stone floor. Harry walked around the front of the armchair to face Riddle, looking idly upon the sickly looking thing- he was a sallow, wizened little beast, all sunken eyes and gnarled, clawed hands. "I've learned some interesting things, Tom, very interesting. Although I am glad that, after all this time and bad blood, we can be civil with each other... I hate you, Tom. You've taken everything from me, and spat on the graves of my friends and family. I am going to kill you in cold blood, Tom Riddle. I have one little thing to point out now, though." He flicked his wand towards the desk, and idly cast "Lumos" at it. Nothing happened; his wand stayed darkened and dead. "Welcome, Tom Riddle, self-styled Lord Voldemort, Lord of Magic and Muggle alike... To the Death of Magic. I do this for _me_, Tom. Not fate or destiny or such silly things. I just really want to fucking kill you."

In his minds eye, even while storming the castle, Harry had a vision of what his revenge would be like. He would stab Riddle through the chest, gazing into his eyes as they lost their spark and he breathed his last. The Death Eaters would scatter before him, and he would walk, triumphant, out to the howling masses, celebrating his victory with wild abandon. There would always be a girl waiting for him; usually it was Ginny (Never mind the impossibilities), and others it was Parvati. Now, however, his mind eye held a blonde haired girl with sparkling, silver eyes. And he would take this girl-

_Luna Lovegood_

-and he would kiss her-

_And love it_

-and she would gaze, lovingly, into his eyes-

_Big and round and beautiful_

-and then, finally, they would leave the sodden Island, and live their lives-

_Forever and ever_

-until they died together, in each others arms, smiling at oblivion-

_Because Heaven is for the good people_

-and he would be content. Finally, content.

_Not Happy, never- content. Settling, good enough._

But that was not how it went at all. Instead, he dragged Tom out by his collar, throwing him to the ground, and he scrabbled around at the top of the desk until he grabbed a big rock- it was probably magical at some point, but now it was a simple rock- and bashed him in the face, many times. Blood spurted out of Riddles eyes and mouth and nose, arms feebly grabbing at the arm Harry used to pin him down. The rock raised over Harrys head, and fell again, and the arms fell. But he didn't stop. Ten years of planning, pain, and sacrifice, and Harry Potter was beating his nemesis to death with a blunt rock.

It felt so fucking _good_.

Eventually, there wasn't much left of Tom Riddles head- skull fragments and oozing grey matter and blood, copious amounts of blood. He left the rock in the puddle that was once a cerebellum, and got up, dusting off his pants. He looked at Tom Riddles corpse, and his face contorted into a sneer. "Pathetic."

His gaze found the mirror. He looked... well, crazy, firstly. His hair was everywhere, his scar standing in stark contrast to his skin; his eyes were shining, chest heaving and covered in other peoples blood, which dripped and dropped from his shirt directly onto his shoes. Steam slowly rose off of him from the now permanent tattoo of a golden chain that was across his arms and chest. It stung, but he hadn't noticed when he was bludgeoning someone to death. He looked like a scary motherfucker. He laughed, a sickening, cruel sound.

In the Great Hall, there were piles of bodies everywhere. The Death Eaters killed by the wolves, and wolves killed by Magics Death. His eyes fell onto only one body, though. Blonde hair pooled around her, and her eyes were closed. She looked like she was sleeping. He shook his head, and started away towards the exit. Harry Potter would never again step foot in Hogwarts again.

Hours later, deep within the twisted pile of corpses, a pair of silver eyes open.

"Patience is a virtue, Harry." She giggled a little, and then looked at the carnage around her. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she got up to leave that place. "Pathetic."


End file.
